


Sunrise

by Amraklove



Category: Naruto
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, Historical, Married Life, Pre-War, War, married
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-29 11:27:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 90,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13926204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amraklove/pseuds/Amraklove
Summary: They say hello more times than goodbye, and Sakura thinks it might be for the best. Especially when it's time to go. / (AU) War-torn Japan, 1600s. Married life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I started this on my ff.net account and I thought I should post it here as well (I need to finally finish writing chapter 2, gah). Anyway, leave comments! I’d love to hear if you like this idea. I tried to be as accurate as possible.

"Sakura, honey," her mother says, and she turns with a heavy weight on her shoulders to regard her with a prepared smile, "are you ready?"

Sakura nods, not because she's in any way saying the truth, but because she's been taught to nod and smile since she was a toddler.

Her mother, dressed in her finest garments, lays her delicate hands on Sakura's covered shoulders from behind her sitting form. There's a large mirror directly in front of her; her mother's been staring at her for the longest time, and Sakura finally focuses her eyes on her own green ones staring back.

She can't say that the lady staring back doesn't look like herself. It is her, but with added makeup, slippery confidence, and some more pounds on her body—she had counted the layers of the kimono and the several skins under that and she'd reached the conclusion that there were more than ten.

She can't say she doesn't look like herself. She'd been raised to appreciate the elegance of a wedding and the requirements and expectations of a bride. The image staring back at her, even if she can barely make out any skin sticking out other than her face, is the reflection of who she knew she was going to become, eventually. Soon, to the joy of her mother.

She lifts her eyes to her mother's across the mirror when the soft sound of people entering the establishment reaches her ears. Her mother smiles slightly, and she returns it with a genuine smile of her own—the only one since she woke up that same morning.

The scattering of feet gliding and walking along the path she's soon to walk on makes her almost break a sweat. But she's better than that, she's been raised to be a better lady.

Still, being a decent lady raised in a decent family doesn't stop her from standing up when her mother's not looking and opening the door of the changing room to look outside. There are many people past the threshold she has to pass by in order to walk along the purple, long carpet that leads to her soon to-be-husband.

"Sakura," her mother berates her right when she's about to lay her eyes on the man who stands at the end of the building.

Sakura looks at her mother and straightens up, closes the door, and walks back to the mirror with heavy steps.

There are a few maids here and there trying to grasp at her ridiculously long dress, following her around the room and not saying a word; it's not like they could, anyway.

"You look marvellous," her mother whispers behind her, letting a woman reach behind her to tie up Sakura's hair in the intricate high-up she was supposed to have, letting a different part of her hair flow down until it meets her waist. "You'll do well when pleasing the warlord. He'll like you plenty."

Sakura wants to tell her that she won't do well, that she won't know what to do at all. Yes, she was well raised and educated, but this was the most powerful warlord the nation had, after all. She was merely a high-class status, fifteen-year-old lady, daughter of her well-known parents and raised in the more-or-less honourable Haruno clan; a noble girl who knew every royal family in the continent. She wants to tell her that she won't do well, because she'd only met the man once to know he didn't like her. And it only took her five minutes to know that there was nothing they had in common.

But she only says what is expected of her, as usual. In a decent, calm, and levelled tone, she speaks, the image on the mirror silently mocking her.

"Thank you, mother."

.

.

.

The walk to her soon-to-be husband is quick and simple, and she doesn't feel nervous at all.

Everyone in the palace is looking at her; at her long, complex and expensive garment, her dull and determined eyes, and her step for if she disgraces herself so much as to fall.

She pays no mind because she doesn't have to. The walk is short and well-paced, and she stands next to Uchiha Sasuke to marry him and unite their noble blood until the end of time in less than one minute.

He doesn't look at her. He barely even moves. So she hardens her gaze and purses her lips into a straight line like she's been taught to, because, even though he doesn't really ackowledge her existence at the moment, he's probably been taught to do so too—or not to, in this case.

So she vows to never leave him, to stay with him through everything, and he says the same words back to the monk. They're cool and devoid of any care, but then so are hers. Soon enough, one ring is on her finger, a light caress of nothingness against her hand while he's putting it like a ball diving cleanly through a hoop, and there's a simpler one on his. Simple rings for a simple procedure of complex reasons.

In the back of her mind, while holding on to his arm and walking away from the aisle, she thinks she hears the happy murmurs of the people in the building. Uchiha Sasuke's father didn't like people cheering at weddings; since his death, a few years back, nobody cheers anymore at these events in the nation.

Sakura peaks at her husband from her peripheral vision, only seeing the tips of his spiky hair for a split second, and wonders if he prefers the murmurs or the cheers—he didn't have a choice to begin with. But it's not hard to imagine at all. He barely communicates verbally to begin with.

They get out of the establishment.

On the way back, in a little white carriage, they share the trek to their castle in silence.

She wants to see his face, his hair, and especially his eyes. But she hadn't looked at him since that day—far, far back, a few weeks before the actual wedding, when she first met him—so she tries to refrain herself. And by look she means to really look at him, take him in, engrave all his features in her memory. For she is his wife and she's going to have to look at him for eternity. But then again he didn't share the same level of interest, it seemed.

It's not like he looked at her; she knows even his cats at the castle are probably more important to him than his own wife, by the interactions he's had with them which she has seen.

But still, Sakura thinks, Uchiha Sasuke doesn't have to know she's going to look at him. Just a peak into his eyes, into his soul, and he won't know a thing.

She lifts her eyes slowly from looking at the passing flower fields, after bruising her covered thigh with her white-knuckled fist. She doesn't care, she needs to see the man she's going to live with for the rest of her life.

She takes the first look at him in the entirety of their big day, just out of curiosity and will, not really concerned whether it's right or wrong anymore, or if it's the right moment.

He looks back without thinking twice, and it's only the harshness in his impenetrable gaze that makes her look away almost immediately.

.

.

.

While Sakura's expectations were as high as they could get, her little mouth still opened in awe at the sight of their new home. The beige and brown and white castle is at least five stories, and it stands on the peak of a moderately high, green-covered mountain, overlooking the village right in the center. The contrast between the light colours of the Japanese architecture and the vivid ground makes her eyes widen, glowing with piqued interest.

They enter the thick, tall stone gates, still in the carriage, and Sakura admires the view of the green leaves from the trees and grass and the numerous colours from the different flowers, which lead up the path to the front porch of the medieval-like castle, framed with Japanese architecture.

A man dressed in commoner clothes opens the door for her and she steps down onto a stone path, right in front of the wooden front porch. Her husband follows.

Their room is on the third floor; Sakura can't think of anything else, she can't gaze at anything else in the castle because he walks in front of her at a much more hurried step, as if he doesn't really want to look at the magnificent structure, even though he'd never seen it before. As if he wants to get things done as fast as possible. This castle is new for both of them, it was acquired with their marriage; for themselves and themselves only. But Sasuke walks through the halls and the stairs as if he's lived there since he was born.

As soon as they enter their new room in their new house, Sasuke blows fire into a candle. She understands what's about to happen, and because of the rigorous classes she's taken for years and years under her mother's request, she knows exactly what to do.

Sakura kneels down on the side of the comfortable futon that's in the center of the dimly lit room. Sasuke kneels a second later on the other side so that the only thing separating them is the mattress, and they bow their heads, not looking at each other and only following an old tradition passed down from generations.

With one hand, he motions to the futon, and she lies down gracefully, legs straight down and eyes focused on the wooden ceiling.

She doesn't mind it when he takes off her layers of Kimono slowly until she's left bare to his empty eyes, his hands firm and confident, but slow and prudent on the silk.

She doesn't mind it when he takes his own clothes off, layer by layer, faster than he did hers, and parts her legs when he moves between them.

After all, it's in her duty to let him. And only because it's in her duty does she let him enter her pure walls with quick thrusts, her eyes closing—in an attempt to focus on the darkness behind her eyelids, and not the laboured breathing between her legs or the gasps from her own persona—and her body tense with discomfort.

She's fifteen when she marries, and he's twenty-six. She, a virgin; he, a man who had the virgin as his fourth wife already.

When she thinks about it, some sadness sinks in, the prospect of multiple women dead before her marriage to him giving her chills—his first wife didn't die, but instead escaped, which makes it even harder for Sakura to not feel sadness gracing her line of vision. But it's long gone as soon as she thinks about other princesses, in other kingdoms—married at fourteen with a man bordering his fifties.

She lets herself whimper because she can't really help it, it hurts and she can't demand him to slow down, so she whimpers again under his laboured breathing and everything becomes still.

He stands up and leaves the room, not before blowing the candle into almost a penumbra. She feels something drip down from between her legs and onto the floor. Her legs are open, knees touching the futon. Her eyes feel watery, and for the first time in years, she lets herself cry.

It's not what she's been taught to do, but, in utter darkness except for the moon's glimpse of light from the window, it's the only thing she can do.

She never cries herself to sleep again. She doesn't let herself fall so low after that.

.

.

.  
He's twenty-seven when he becomes the head of the country's military government. With the assassination of his older brother, Itachi (the previous Shogun), there was no question that he had to take his brother's place in order to represent the Uchiha Shogunate.

There is nothing else Sakura wants to do but to look at her husband and console him and his dark nightmares, from that day on in the late days of summer.

She conforts him during the day by being near him and at night by caressing his hair and holding him through his nightmares every night, even after he pushes her away and tells her to leave him alone. She tries to rid him of his perturbed thoughts of vengeance for his adored older brother. But the words go to deaf ears and desinterested looks and she stops talking altogether one winter day.

The snow had started to fall a few weeks back, but Sakura still adores the way the snowflakes fall on the thick mantle of snow under the clastle, like love falls on hungry humans—cold and fast.

Her husband is away most of the time since his ascension to power; he's called to fight and lead armies to defend Fire of its enemies. From what she's heard, he trains Samurai here and there—the pride of Fire Country in crucial times. Sometimes he's gone for days, sometimes for weeks.

She takes the time off to paint on canvases, read medicinal books from the private library of the castle where she spends most of the time, and knit gloves for no one in mind. Trivial things that, when he's home, she can't do.

And every time he has to go for military purposes, he makes sure to not let her see him leave.

She has learnt to not mind.

.

.

.

Her husband has been successful in every facet of the nation because he's different from every other leader before.

She has observed him enough to know that this is the reason everyone in the nation trusts him to keep a civil war from issuing—to bring peace, instead, to the entire nation that stands on its tip toes. Not to say that Itachi wasn't good at leading people, but he was way too peaceful, and with the country on the brink of war he was, therefore, inefficient.

She has seen the way her husband thinks, the way he handles tasks under pressure and under the watchful gaze of the emperor, and even the way he trains under the dying sun in their backyard, like a flowing feather kisses the wind.

In the year she has been married to him, she has seen enough to know her husband is a quiet negotiator; quiet but lethal.

There has been just one attack inside their village, by another small village that rests next to theirs. Sasuke had talked to the village's clan heads, making a deal in less than two minutes. Sakura had heard the bombing stop immediately in Konoha—the capital of Fire—from where she sat in the castle next to a window, and she had heard from another party that her husband had stopped the attack with just a few, curt words.

Sasuke is nothing but a good leader to his people, especially to his gigantic, impressive army of Samurai.

Samurai aren't taught anything else but the basics to know how to fight. They're taught horsemanship, etiquette, and how to handle weapons, essential things to know in order to fight, but her husband surpasses all teachings.

Sasuke has been taught to really think about the strategies; he has been taught knowledge from different sciences, math, and five different languages.

He knows how to fool the enemy or how to lure him in.

He's the complete package of knowledge, much like herself, and this is why their marriage flows quietly.

She barely ever sees him at their castle anyway; he's mostly away all the time, training or battling or making treaties. If she had to choose a number to explain how often she sees him on a weekly basis, it would have to be one—because she only sees him, with some luck, once every week. And, even if she does see him once a week, it's always during the night, while she's lying on her royal bed trying to sleep and she feels him slip inside the covers on his side of the bed.

It's quiet, always. Ever since that fateful day in summer a few months back, they seldom speak to each other.

.

.

.

A new year comes out of the warm horizon, with hues of orange, yellow, and red. The soft light caresses her unusual blonde hair, speckled with a rose hue that makes it seem pale pink altogether, and creates a softer image of colours to the eye, just like the sunrise.

Sasuke stares.

It's the first morning he's had the privilege to sleep past seven since he became Shogun.

Sakura lies on her stomach, the small robe riding down her back and letting him see the expanse of her smooth skin under the messy covers.

Her long, straight hair falls on the pillow like a waterfall, cascading down and melting with the early colours of the sunrise seeping in through the open window.

He lets his tired eyes trail over her silhouette, from the slender contours of her covered legs to the small of her exposed back, unmarred and frail, much different to his own.

It's something he has never done, and as he notices the slight hints of blonde on the tips of her hair, he feels a sense of sympathy for this woman—girl, he thinks, would be more appropriate—who hasn't asked for anything out of him in the two years they have been married.

From the large space in between them, he gazes upon the ethereal image of his fourth wife, feeling exhausted all of a sudden.

It's been two years and they're still strangers to each other, and he can't help but think that his previous wives were strangers to him as well before they couldn't take it anymore and left him—one of them literally, and the other three through other gruesome, unexpected, self-inflicted ways.

The prospect of marrying again, were Sakura to leave him, would be a very troublesome thing. He knows that he's always forced to marry because of money or treaties, but it doesn't make it any less tiring.

He has armies and people to lead, after all, and can't be bothered to care for any romantic displays of affection every time the time calls for it.

But as he watches his wife shift in her sleep, humble and patient as he has seen her to be, he decides he does not want any other wife.

Sakura shifts again and lies on her side, facing him, and his eyes soften imperceptibly.

He wishes he could have more time to spare to get to know her better, but he doesn't. He starts dressing up.

.

.

.  
Sakura's eighteen when she gets asked to attend an important meeting with the most important warlord in the nation of Fire, as Sasuke's wife.

She's asked to attend a meeting in which she will have no say in any of it, and she doesn't know why she's asked at all. After all, her husband has always gone to meetings with his advisors, but never with her. Women aren't really invited to such things.

Nevertheless, her personal assistants dress her with intricate and fine silks, a kimono which looks elegant and poised, much more expensive than any other person can afford.

Her husband waits for her in a room of the castle, where the warlord would arrive in a few minutes, and she enters with a kind of practiced grace that hides her confusion.

She still doesn't know the reason for her presence, but she walks with confidence until she sits next to him on the floor, legs tucked under her and hands on her lap.

When the tall and slender warlord enters the spacious and brightly lit room, they both stand and bow, as he also does, before they all sit down again—the couple together, and the warlord in front of them, separated by a small table.

"Uchiha Sasuke, I am very pleased to finally meet the brother of one of the few men I've trusted with my life," the warlord says, a man a few years older than her husband. His yellow eyes shift to hers, and she feels a tremor run down her spine. "I see you have brought your wife, too."

"Yes, my brother spoke highly of you many times before," the voice of her husband reaches her ears and she wants to look at him, for it's the first time she hears him speak of his deceased brother since his fatal assassination, but his next words still her desire. "And, if needed be, my wife can leave this room at my command."

She doesn't feel hurt at his cold words, but it still ignites a small flame of anger inside of her. It's not her place to feel angry, though, so she barely appears disturbed.

"Oh, no need, young Sasuke," the man says. "If I may, your wife is very beautiful, and she won't be a problem. Won't you?"

Sasuke stills for a second beside her, but he relaxes so quickly that she doesn't know if he tensed at all.

Sakura shows her pearly teeth when she smiles and bows respectfully to the man in front of her, faking the pleasure of his disgusting words.

The man chuckles a bit and runs his snake-like eyes all over her covered frame, almost as if trying to find any exposed skin but failing immediately.

"If I do say so myself, lady Uchiha has yet to produce any heir to the Shogun, and I hope he knows he can try other methods for the troubles," the sole sentence makes Sakura's hair stand and her throat feel like it's closing up. At Sasuke's silence, the warlord smirks softly at her confused and anxious expression.

"Concubines, very cheap and very efficient," he clears up, as if confirming her suspicions makes her any less afraid. Shoguns, Daimyo, emperors, and warlords all were very known for taking up more than one wife in order to ensure heirs to the position.

The fact that her husband had only touched her during their wedding day and had not shown any inclinations for having more wives rings in her head for the first time. She hadn't thought of that before, and it gives her some sense of relief.

However, she can't help but also think that, if he did have more wives, she would be able to detach herself completely from his grasp and be able to hold much more freedom. As it is, she holds the sole attention from every person in the world as the country's military leader's only wife.

"I have no desire to, just as you have no right to insinuate such things," the smooth voice of her husband reaches her ears, and she feels herself relax next to him imperceptibly.

Sasuke clears his throat.

"Let us begin, Orochimaru."

Orochimaru looks at Sasuke, then, and it's almost as if he's doing the same to him. His eyes trail over his body and then he smiles.

"Yes, of course."

They sign an accord twenty minutes later, when the meeting ends, and she can't help the sigh of relief that escapes her lips as soon as the snake man leaves the room. Sasuke feigns not noticing.

.

.

.

Sakura's eighteen and she's young and she has very rare and striking features—rose gold hair that reaches her small waist and green eyes—that make her noticeable and known by everyone in the country.

When she married Uchiha Sasuke, nobody opposed. Everyone thought she was going to be his final wife, and that they were going to fall in love deeply, innately, at first sight. Her closest friends wrote to her for several weeks after the wedding—as they were not allowed to go inside the castle for visits—expressing their enthusiasm for her. They almost could have been described as jealous of her. Even Uchiha Itachi had approved.

The truth couldn't be further from that. Even after three years of just being there for him—but not really, for she had stopped supporting him ever since the winter of the first year—they are still complete strangers.

It's not that she has not tried; it's that he has not tried and they have not tried enough.

But Sakura is eighteen and she's young and she has no wrinkles, she's very flexible, she's fluent in the same languages he is, she knows how to solve problems strategically and mathematically, and she knows the art of seduction from her hair to her toes.

So she does not comprehend why she's in this predicament: stuck in a palace she has not been able to get out of in three years, stuck and not being able to interact with anyone other than her family through monthly letters. She does not possibly understand how her husband does not desire her, not even to hold her through the night like she has been taught he would.

She has been taught to seduce and be seduced, to rid of her garments slowly, to touch and be touched in exactly the right places, but none of it matters when her husband shows no interest in her whatsoever.

She doesn't mind that part that much; doesn't delve into it a lot. But it still makes her question her duties as a wife more than once—especially after the snake man's visit.

And one day she comes to the conclusion, dropping the brush full of a green colour she had been using to create grass in her painting, that he's so incredibly busy that he has no time to think about these domestic issues with her.

She comes to the conclusion that she's just there to serve as a symbol of resilience and stability in Sasuke's life and the country's gossips.

She comes to the conclusion that it's not her fault, but it's probably not his either.

.

.

.  
Sasuke is cleaning his favourite horse when she approaches him from the private gardens they own. And for the first time since they married, she doesn't feel it's not in her place to bother him. She feels enraged, betrayed, stepped-on, and she's not going to stand idly aside when she knows what has been done is not alright.

So she approaches him, and enters the very-well-cared-for stables, standing right out one of the cubicles where he's brushing his dark horse's mane.

She feels angry, but she masks it well enough so that she can speak coherently and calmly in front of his apathetic stare.

She only speaks when Sasuke directs his gaze at her form, though, and he stills the brush in his hand for a second too long, clearly baffled by her otherwise-ghostly presence.

"Sakura," he states, so infuriatingly perfect with his unruly locks and symmetrical features and toned body that she has the urge to turn away in frustration. But she doesn't.

"Sasuke," she reponds. She's dressed inappropriately for this kind of setting, with a blue kimono that only has two layers, while he stands with black pants and a black shirt, all simple and ordinary. She does not smile when she talks. "I bring to you a question that troubles me greatly."

She knows she has captured his attention when he puts down the brush and walks toward the entrance of the cubicle—toward her.

"Which is?"

"I fear your horse has ruined my garden, the flowers specifically," her voice is even and she never takes her eyes away from his own penetrating gaze, but she feels shaky inside. She has never stood up to her husband before—ever.

However, her husband is seldom at their castle, and, added to the fact that she can't go out of the castle and into the village on his strict orders, she gets bored. She's picked up hobbies like painting, reading, knitting, and taking care of her garden. Her beautiful garden that has been taken care of for arduous years. Her flowers were about to come to life again after the cold and harsh winter, and she woke up that morning to see all of her work run over. Her flowers were on the ground, smashed, and there were prints on the soil. Hooves.

Sasuke raises an eyebrow at her, standing less than two feet away from her.

"How are you so sure?

"There were hoove prints on the soil," she says, looking past him and glaring at the horse, who was staring at her with the same amount of hate.

Sasuke blocks her view of the horse when he steps in her line of vision, staring down at her like the dangerous man he is and acting as a shield for the shared hatred at his stables.

"Yami hasn't been out today, so there's no way she could have ruined your garden," he says, and she has the urge to laugh because his horse's name is literal darkness, and it couldn't be more fitting for the man, but she feels her eyes watering instead.

She turns this time, frustrated that she can't do anything about anything because she's only his wife and she doesn't even know him and he probably wouldn't care if someone infiltrated their castle and killed her tomorrow, and she walks out of the stables with tears in her eyes—but she holds them in, she holds them in because she's not going to cry like she did on her wedding night, pathetic and frail. Never again.

Sasuke's steps grow louder as he steps out of the stables and calls out for her. She turns to him against her wishes, only because she's been taught to follow his every order since she could understand words, and sees his face has changed. It not stoic, apathetic, serious.

She can tell he's conflicted when he looks around for the words to say, grasping at air instead.

"I... I'll get you new flowers, just tell Akane."

Akane, the only maid who can go out to buy things in the village.

"Really? Just like the ones I had?" She asks, hopeful and childish and almost jumping from joy.

Sasuke turns his face and eyes away from her beaming eyes, but she still hears him loud and clear in the space between them when he speaks.

"Whichever you wish for."

It's not the best answer he could have given her. But as she watches him disappear in the stables again, she feels a small, true smile creeping up her lips, lifting the corners for the first time in a while.

She has never really thought of her relationship with Sasuke that much. She doesn't know him, he's only ever touched her once, and she barely even sees him around. But maybe they haven't really tried to get to know each other, and if she has to live in his palace until the end of her days anyway, she might as well make an effort.

.

.

.

It's been a month since the flowerbed incident and her garden is almost blooming already with different colours and exotic plants that probably cost more than the common villager can afford.

She hasn't really thanked him yet, but she plans to as a way of showing initiative toward their broken marriage.

A sunny day two days after he returns from a diplomatic meeting at another village, she finds him sitting on her favourite single-person sofa in the study room. He's reading a book, thick and old and most likely confidential, yet she approaches him all the same.

He raises his eyes from the parchment to look into her own a second after her steps are audible, and closes the book almost too quickly for her to not notice.

She brushes it aside, though, and focuses on her next words as she extends her covered, slim arms toward him. She offers him his favourite dish in a bento, carefully crafted by her own hands for one hour, but he does not even look inside to see its contents.

"It's- I wanted to thank you for my new garden. It's more beautiful than before, now," she says, bowing to him while offering him her handcrafted bento patiently.

He seems to consider her offer for a second longer than expected, and then he curtly nods and looks away.

"Have Aki take it to our room later."

Sakura stands straight again after processing those words, and she feels her cheeks redden in embarrassment and her eyebrows lift in incredulity at his statement a moment later. She can't help but to speak up in her astonishment.

"Pardon my assumption, but I could not help but feel surprised. My husband thinks I could poison him?"

Sasuke looks back at her with some hints of surprise himself, clearly not expecting her to keep on talking to him so freely. He recomposes himself faster than she can blink.

"As with any other person aside my own, I reserve no differences in treatment. I am merely taking precautions," he responds, drilling holes in her skull and making her realise something she hadn't seen with such clarity as in the moment. It would explain why he refrains from touching her, having a child, sharing his life and secrets with her, and so many of the things they have been lacking over the course of three years.

It certainly makes perfect sense in her mind as she bows and leaves the study room, looking for Aki, the head of the kitchen.

Sasuke doesn't even see her as his wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so timeline roughly goes like this: Sakura's 15 and Sasuke's 26 and they marry around March/April, then late July he becomes shogun after his birthday, making him 27, and she loses interest in talking to him that year's winter. Then two years pass by in those few time skips I did there, and finally Sakura is 18 and Sasuke's 29 by the end of chapter 1. Hope I didn't cause much confusion.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m gonna put here what I wrote on my ffnet account. A guest complained about Sakura being useless and weak in this story so: let me tell you something. This is the Edo period in Japan, or Tokugawa, where less than ten percent of women could read. But here is Sakura, being proficient in reading and writing and knowing several languages. And even when women could read or write, they were forbidden to teach anyone in the higher ranks. Don't even get me started on marriage. Let's just say that their husbands were entitled to kill them if they were lazy or bad wives, so even this Sasuke is good considering the circumstances.
> 
> Anyway, yep. Sakura will be more daring soon in the context of the story though, I can tell you that. She's fiery in her own little way, because she really can't be any more than that, uknowatimean? Hard times.
> 
> Also, comment here too please! I’d love to hear your thoughts as this story gets darker and darker.

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Sakura often wonders why she didn't bear him a son on their wedding night after that day. Usually, that was all it took for her acquaintances to get pregnant, back when she had the freedom to talk to anyone other than her husband, way before she was signed off to someone like him—she remembers Ino in the back of her mind, a small blonde full of charisma and charm, their smiles and the afternoons spent together, but pushes the fond memories out before they can affect her in any way or form.

So she doesn't understand why it was what it was in her case.

The whole nation was waiting for an heir, and it has been engraved in her being that she must carry said heir in her womb—she had training sessions about it, even—so she does not understand her predicament one bit.

Even when most of the women she knows got pregnant on the first night, she's certain that's not always the case. As it is with her, the only way to bear him a son would be to keep trying, but they have not even made the effort. This doesn't bother her as much as it should—even if that alone should occupy ninety-nine percent of the duties she has to fulfill for him—but it still makes her wonder. Now that she knows he doesn't fully consider her his wife, having a child might also have been pushed back because of it.

And if she pushes her mind's thoughts even further, she starts to wonder why none of his previous wives bore him a son either, because even though most of them lasted less than nine months, his first wife was married to him for three years before she passed away in circumstances no one but Sasuke knows.

She stills her fingers from turning another page of the book she's holding, sitting on her favourite bench of the beautiful, intricately decorated gardens at the thought of why she hadn't bore him a son in all that time—the same time she and Sasuke have been married, too.

She closes the book, all about different kinds of herbs in different kinds of situations, with a deafening pop, and clutches it to her small chest.

Sasuke leisurely walks several meters away from where she's sitting, taking his favourite horse out of the stables by the reins. Even at such a distance, she can still see him pet her mane with a gentleness she didn't think a man like him could possess, and give her something to eat that she can not distinguish.

Sakura doesn't really get to see his eyes trailing after her as she stands and leaves the gardens in a hurry.

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.

.

She dozes off in one of the numerous libraries at their castle four days later, on the fourth floor. It's in the late of the evening while the maids try to look for her, frantically going room-to-room for dinner.

It has been a quiet kind of day, peaceful and, unlike any other day at the castle, she feels undisturbed, the kind of day that makes someone wake to the song of birds at the windowsill, like in the fairytale novels her father used to read to her, way before he was taken away.

When Sakura wakes up from her little dreamless nap, there is an unfamiliar weight resting on her stomach. She opens her eyes slowly and looks down at the books thrown about on her chest and at her sides—clearly, she had been trying to read about the wonders of a specific plant found only in Sound—and past that to see what could possibly be purring on her lap.

It's one of Sasuke's cats.

Her ears are twitching in the air, probably sensing her displease and the murderous aura around her. She recognises her as the only white cat in the mansion—or at least, the only one she's seen around, and the tiniest one at that too. She's always hiding from her on the sparse times she has seen her, though, and she's always glad that she doesn't think of her as a friend. Until now, it seems.

Sasuke's cats are never around her. It's not that she hates them, but she doesn't particularly like animals in general. And she has a theory that animals can sense that, a theory that now has been debunked for some reason.

Sasuke has so many cats that she has never tried to keep track of them, much less remember their names, and the one on her lap is no exception to the rule. Even as she concentrates on the name, it doesn't come—the only things she knows are that she's young and white—so she just shakes her head and ponders on waking the creature up or not.

One part of her wants to push it off her as quickly as possible, and another part wants to stay still and hold her breath, lest the feline tries to scratch her delicately-made dress or, worse, her immaculate skin.

She suddenly remembers eyes like her own staring at her, voice serious as she told little Sakura about the dangers of animals. Her mother had told her numerous times during her childhood to never ever let a cat touch her, apparently because they were evil and brought disease with them.

Sakura doesn't really think her mother's right, for Sasuke has owned cats ever since she met him, and before that. But, considering the history of unpredictable and mysterious deaths in his family—something that still wakes her interest, although not enough for her to try to get answers—it makes her wonder for the first time.

The cat feigns not noticing her internal, small freak-out session, and opts to keep sleeping peacefully on the expensive silks that cover her thighs. Sakura bites down on her lower lip, switching from looking at the kitten to looking at the wall full of books to her far right.

She doesn't know for how long she stays like that, but it's quite a while later that she hears something other than the birds outside and the cat purring softly.

Someone opens the double doors slowly, and a brown head peers inside, noticing Sakura and letting out a sigh of relief. There's a grateful smile on the maid's worn down features as she takes one step inside, bowing respectfully after composing herself.

"Uchiha-sama, finally I have found you. I have been looking everywhere for you, my lady."

Still bowing, she waits for Sakura to respond.

"What is it?"

The maid stands straight again and smiles courteously. "Dinner is ready, for you and my lord."

Sakura nods and, as if on cue, her stomach growls softly. It isn't loud enough to alert the maid and disgrace herself, but it's enough for the feline on her lap to stretch a little. Sakura goes tense until he finally settles down again and keeps on sleeping.

"We will all be waiting for you on the first floor. Am I excused?" She looks at Sakura, smiling softly.

"Wait," she answers, and the word comes out of her throat raspy from sleep. She wants to ask the middle-age woman to get the cat off her lap, but she doesn't think it should be wise to show weakness, even if it's just a cat. She hasn't shown one shred of weakness since she married Sasuke around this castle, and she's not going to any time soon. As the wife of Fire's Shogun, she mustn't, especially since he takes many risks in order to do the same. So she asks something else instead. "What's her name?"

The woman stares at her, puzzled, and as soon as Sakura points to the cat with her eyes, she frowns even more. "The cat?"

"Yes. I don't know much of my lord's cats, but this one doesn't particularly look familiar. What's her name?"

Strangely, a kind smile resurfaces on the maid's face, looking at the cat with a certain kind of adoration. "Oh, that's the youngest one yet. It was rescued by Uchiha-sama a few weeks ago, so dirty that we thought it was a black cat at first," she takes a breath, thinking. "I don't remember the name, my lady, my apologies."

Sakura nods and sighs. "I'll go to dinner in a few minutes. You may leave."

As soon as the doors close shut, Sakura looks down at the cat.

A pair of sapphire eyes stare back at her.

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.

.

Dinner is quiet, just like the rest of the day has been. She appreciates that there are no disparingly critical changes during dinner; she thinks she has had enough for the day with the cat. After the maid left, she had calmly stepped off her lap and walked away to some other room—and Sakura hadn't known she'd been holding her breath until she left.

After she's done eating at one end of the table, she looks up. And while the maids and cooks take her plates away, she looks at Sasuke, who's at the other end of the table.

He has also finished, and is now looking back at her.

It's only for a moment, though, because then he silently pushes away his chair and gets up, and Sakura finds herself doing something she has never done before.

It's customary, one of the many unwritten rules she has been trained to learn about behaviours under his government, to stay at the table until he has left and three minutes have past.

But she gets up, too, and trails after him until she finally reaches him, touches his shoulder from behind, and widens her eyes when he turns around quickly, hand fisting the hem of her kimono in an alarmingly tight hold.

She usually stays seated until he has left the dining area as a gesture of respect for him, yes, but she has been living with him for a little over three years now, and she's tired of following every single invisible rule in the book every single day.

She hadn't expected him to be so surprised—so much so that he actually thought he was being attacked from behind by an enemy.

They stare at each other for only a second before he releases her fast. She can tell he's confused, so she clears her throat and averts her eyes quickly.

"Sorry for startling you, my lord, I did not mean it."

When he doesn't answer, she glances up at him again and tries to smile. The fingers that had tapped his shoulder are shaking, so she covers her right hand with her left to hide it.

"Sorry, I just had a question. I was going to wait until you returned to our room at night, but I fear I might forget what troubles me," she breathes out, finding it difficult to find a reason why she had had the nerve to even follow him out the doors.

"What?" And it sounds more like a demand than a question altogether, but she just sighs and takes another deep breath, and asks him.

"You have... many cats around the castle. I was wondering about one of them in specific. The white one," she says, looking briefly into his eyes before she looks down again. She sees all she has to see in his eyes to know he thinks of her—not only as a random woman living in his house, not his wife, as she had discovered a few weeks ago, but—as a crazy person now.

It is a ridiculous question, but Sakura has told herself countless of times that this marriage is going to work, and she has to start getting close to him some way or the other, right? Even if she has to ask him the most random thing in the world, not pertinent to anything related to a life-or-death situation, or even about his work outside the castle. Little steps, she thinks, might work.

She waits patiently for his reply, and he answers a heartbeat later, his voice monotonous and serene against the walls of the hallway.

"What about him?" He asks, getting impatient. He had been heading to the furthest part of the gardens, one of his favourite training sites, when Sakura had approached him out of nowhere. And if that wasn't uncharacteristic enough of her, she demands to know about one of his cats, when she has clearly shown to dislike every animal in the compound to begin with.

"She's a he? Oh..." After a pensive expression, she pretends to dust off her kimono and sighs. "Well, anyway, I only wish to know his name."

It's a few seconds later that Sasuke answers, looking at her like he has been asked the strangest question on Earth. Sakura feels embarrassment creeping up her neck, but she holds it back quickly when he speaks.

"He doesn't have one. I haven't had the time," he says, turning around and starting to walk away, back to his training. "You can grant him one if you please, though."

This makes Sakura stare at his back for the longest time, until he turns at the end of the corridor and she loses sight of him.

She has never had a pet before—it's quite a miracle she isn't downright scared of animals after hearing so many stories—so she has no idea how to name the cat, out of all animals. A cat.

She shakes her head and turns to the stairs on the right, ready to go to bed after a long bath, the idea of a name quickly pushed to the back of her mind.

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.

.

"Uchiha-sama, the hospital seems to need extra funding for this week as they plan to come up with a new antidote," his assistant explains at the foot of his office's door.

Sasuke looks outside through the window, hands clasped together at his back, looking at the near-ruins of Kusa—the Land of Grass—in contemplation.

This village had suffered one of the greatest attacks in Earth—since he had become Shogun—a month ago, and it had left the land barren and dry, with barely any houses standing and all trees burnt to a crisp. Sasuke hadn't been expecting it at all for he had been in Konoha, basking in the few days of peace and no-nonsense from the nation of Fire.

He had to leave said peace as soon as reports of an anbush reached his ears, especially since Fire's most important Daimyō, Nakamura Nogi, had just formed an alliance with Earth country for supplies in exchange of protection.

Sasuke reasons that Kusagakure had been anticipating an attack right before they made a deal with Fire for protection—because, why would they make an alliance out of nowhere if not for this? Sasuke reasons that, due to the short span of time given to him to get there right when the attacks started, it is not really his fault. He only did what he could, even if he couldn't do much or reach the battlestruck village on time.

It all makes sense in his head, but it's still not going to seat well with anyone when he returns to Fire—to Konoha, the capital—because he was the one in charge of protecting this village, and now it has been burnt to the ground over two simple nights—which was almost not enough time for his army of Samurai to get there.

"An antidote for what? I gave them enough funding last month," he calmly responds.

"With the recent attacks, your army and your funds have really helped to stop the fire, and we know you have sent a squad to chase down whatever is left of the rogue people who attacked, but my sources say a new disease has been spreading through the hospital due to unsanitary conditions. It's still so crowded that it's almost impossible to walk around without stepping on bodies on the floor."

Sasuke hears him shift on his feet, probably not at ease as his leader thinks this through. More funding means more means, which means more spending, which means more help from Fire. Sasuke thinks he has given them more than enough, but it's not his choice to make in the matter—it's his Daimyō's.

"I will bestow them one-fourth of what was given to them a month ago, and no more. See what they can make of that."

Considering the large amount of money he had donated to the village before, no one can complain. His assistant thinks so too, for he hears him scribble something down hurriedly.

"Anything else you need, Shikamaru?" He turns around and sits on the only chair in the office, in front of his ample desk with several stacks of paper on it, looking up at his military strategies expert-slash-genius with feigned interest. Shikamaru stares back with something at the tip of his tongue, and Sasuke knows this like he knows the palm of his hand.

He sees this man more often than he sees his wife, so it's safe to say he trusts him in being his close advisor, especially since he goes wherever the tide takes him, no matter how ridiculous or mundane—like this trip to Grass after a relatively peaceful two weeks.

The man clears his throat.

"Sir, the Saitō clan want to strike a deal about Konoha's resources in regards to the Shaiga Bridge. As soon as possible, so they say," Shikamaru adds nonchalantly, looking at his superior with very similar dark bags under his eyes. "It looks like Konoha's feudal lord will also attend the meeting."

This has Sasuke's hair stand on edge.

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.

.

Geisha are beautiful, poised and trained women of the arts. They are taught from a very young age to entertain, pleasure, and obey men of high ranks and political statuses.

In that sense, Sakura feels she and they are very much alike.

But they differ greatly in many other things, mainly the fact that they can dance and Sakura, due to her focus on other topics of learning, cannot. But also in that Geisha are very well respected women in the Fire nation—the only women, really, in the entire country—whereas Sakura is insignificant and small even as the wife of a great man of power.

She has only seen Geisha perform once before in her life, and the memory is blurry and faded from her younger years. So she's surprised, to say the least, when one morning one of the housemaids hands her an envelope with her name on it, stating in simple words: on Sunday, be ready for the carriage at sundown.

"Is this my husband's writing?" She asks the maid, one of the many nameless people in the castle that come and go and she never gets to see twice anyway.

At her nod, she tightens her hold on the note and stares at the fire burning in front of her, tempting her slowly. "My lord's advisor says it's about a Geisha performance. Would you like me to choose your clothing for today, Uchiha-sama?"

The few words make the rest of the paper seem endless, yet they stay imprinted in her brain for the remaining days that lead to sunday.

A Geisha performance.

She hasn't been out of the castle in three years, so she doesn't see why he would take her outside now, to see a show on top of it all; a show which she didn't even think he would be interested in at all.

Konoha has been eerily quiet for the past few weeks, and she has been seeing her husband more—for two whole weeks—because of such peace—even if he had to leave two days ago for something up in Grass—so maybe that would explain his need for entertainment. The man was restless if he didn't battle and negotiate, after all.

But she still grimaces because it seems very strange, thinking how silly it would be for Sasuke out of all people to crave the entertainment of several women dancing sensually to music, and throws the letter into the burning flames of the chimney.

His reason must be something else, or else she fears she has been seeing a lie in her husband's personality all along.

She tries to ignore the way the nameless maid gasps at her gesture.

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.

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Sunday comes and it comes crashing down.

Just as she expected, it's not just his doing the fact that they're going to a Geisha performance. Just as she enters the establishment with Sasuke by her side, she's hit by a wave of smoke that envelops the entire room.

Different scents, a slow tune, and several drunken boisterous laughs echo for a few seconds, but it doesn't faze Sasuke at all. Used to these environments, he places a careful hand on the small of Sakura's back, lest she loses herself in the fog and makes a scene, and walks forward.

A group of men he identifies as the leaders of the Saitō clan sit around a round table at the front of the stage, slightly to the right of the room, looking at him knowingly. There are two empty spaces next to each other at the table reserved for them, and as they near said space, he notices Sakura stiff in realization.

He does not particularly enjoy using his wife for political benefits and advantages, but she has an exotic beauty he has never seen on anyone else before, the greenest eyes and the pinkest hue of blonde hair, and her small frame accentuates her flawless face, so he takes her along for business only when strictly necessary—just as when he took her to a meeting with Orochimaru, one that he doesn't really like remembering.

But she came in handy sometimes, especially since everyone in the nation was catatonic about her looks—only from their wedding day, for he had not let her go outside ever since and the country had quieted down their murmurs of awe.

Now, as he looks upon the faces of his businessmen, he knows he's made the right decision. All eyes on his prized possesion, hungry and awed, and Sasuke suddenly feels disgusted and proud at the same time toward the repulsive old men trying to keep their drool inside.

They all stand quickly and bow.

"Uchiha Sasuke, pleasure to have you here tonight. I almost thought you would not make it," one of them says—the leader, he guesses. He's the only one who seems composed enough to speak, it seems.

They border the round table until they reach the empty spots, and Sasuke bows curtly.

"I would not possibly miss it. Please, sit," he responds, all tenor and hard angles, and Sakura stands next to him like a statue would, elegant and immobile.

Every man but one sits down on his respective chair. Sakura keeps her gaze down on the tablecloth of the large table, but she takes a sneak peak at the standing man directly opposite to them, and wonders who it could possibly be.

Light brown hair and light brown eyes, tall built, nothing out of the ordinary save for the slightly attractive features on an ageing face.

When she feels Sasuke bow his head slightly, she doesn't have to guess anymore.

It's the Daimyō, in all his overweight glory, standing and offering a curt nod toward Sasuke in acknowledgment. Even though Sasuke could be considered a Daimyō himself because of the sole title of Shogun, the mere fact that he's younger than the one in front of them makes him hold less power.

He directs his eyes toward her next, and she quickly averts her own and bows to the man—this man who can somehow be more important than Sasuke—who in return nods to her too. This is when he finally sits, and they follow suit.

"Uchiha Sasuke, I have not had the pleasure to meet with you, face to face, since your brother died in battle."

If she wasn't so uncomfortable at the several other eyes on her, she would have noticed her husband tense for a second at the mention of his deceased brother.

"Nor have I, but it has been quite a busy two years, my lord," Sasuke answers the Daimyō with the most respect she has seen him possess. It's strange to her, how Sakura's idea of the most powerful man in the nation—because he's the only man in power she's known in the last three years—can refer to someone else as his superior.

To Sakura, there isn't anyone superior to Sasuke.

"That is true, but you should know that is not why we are meeting here today," the Daimyō comments, hands hidden under the table and spine erect.

"I know the focus of our meeting, but I do not know the reason for the locale," Sasuke says. The music slows down and the lights start to dim, much to Sakura's content.

The man next to the Daimyō—his advisor, it seems, for his frail frame and small stature don't give way for the title of personal bodyguard, even if he's remarkably younger than any of the other unfamiliar men at the table—speaks up at that.

"My lord Nakamura-sama has approved this setting for obvious reasons, Uchiha-san. The first one being that the music and the drunk men will hide whatever conversation we're having. The second being that no one of the higher ranks would ever look for us men in a place like this, you see."

Sakura stays with her head bowed down, staring at the mostly empty table, still void of food but full of drinks. Her ears may be curious but her eyes stay cleverly low. It is not in her place to speak up in this setting, even if called.

"What was not obvious, my lord, was the appearance of your wife this evening," another voice chimes in, presumably one of the negotiators of the night.

Sakura lifts up her head when Sasuke whispers the command to her, and she smiles respectfully at the table full of men like she knows how to.

"I would think this meeting would be kept strictly confidential, given all the precautions taken beforehand," Nakamura's advisor chimes in again, sounding innocently smug as he indirectly complains about her presence.

At this point, Sakura steals a glance at her husband. He looks anything but conflicted, almost like he's unaffected by all this blabber, but Sakura knows by now how to read the special glint in his eyes: he's thinking about sending her home, one way or the other. The evening's not exactly going as he had expected.

"Yes, it is quite the surprise," the Daimyō responds thoughtfully, looking at Sakura under his caramel bangs with a gaze she can't quite decipher, even as it leaves her shuddering under the four layers of kimono. "But, please, I'm sure your lovely wife would not say anything. Nobody has seen her after the wedding, in any case. So, why now?"

Nakamura takes a sip of his drink as he awaits the answer. And when Sasuke does answer, the words make Sakura's stomach churn and turn over ever so slowly. She looks up at his profile, illuminated by the background lights of the room, and hopes, in the deepest part of her soul, that he's only saying these things for appearances' sake.

"After being married quite a few times, you learn to be cautious. I don't usually walk around with my wife outside as I did with previous ones, but tonight is an exception, you see."

The Daimyō smirks, downs his cup, and understands something Sakura had yet to.

"It's a test," he says, "I wish I had the same patience for my wives, Sasuke-san. You have waited three years to start trusting her, after all. That's impressive, if I may say so."

The man lifts his cup up and Sasuke barely moves his head in a nod of acknowledgement, opting to drink out of his own cup at the same time Nakamura does.

Sakura refrains from frowning in disgust, even as she feels the bile creep up her throat. It's sickening, whatever they are thinking in their close-minded brains, and she slowly, subconsciously moves her arm away from Sasuke's, even in the small space given by two chairs that are next to each other.

He notices—because she knows he does; it's Uchiha Sasuke after all, and nothing goes past that man—as he does with everything, and clears his throat.

She wishes the topic would change, but as luck will have it, her husband decides to change it right when she looks away and toward the stage full of Geisha getting into position for the upcoming performance, and she doesn't try to pay attention to the men at the table anymore.

"Gentlemen, we should start talking about Shaiga's Bridge, and what its construction could mean for the nation's commerce," her husband announces.

A man slams his fist on the table drunkenly, taking everyone by surprise. Sakura does everything to not jump in her seat.

"Let's order some food and watch the show, shall we? We'll talk about business later, my friend. The night is young."

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.

A few minutes into the show, and while everyone but her is eating, she excuses herself to the bathroom. No one but Sasuke takes notice, anyway, or so she had thought.

She should have known better than to walk away from the protection of her husband. Even if said husband had been insulting her presence ever since they got there, he was also the only form of protection she had had, and now, feeling someone behind her as she attempts to slide the door of the bathroom close, she only wishes she hadn't stood up at all.

It's not hard to imagine who the presence belongs to. The Daimyō had been ogling her all throughout the evening, never taking his light eyes away and stealing furtive glances he thought she couldn't see, something that she only hopes now her husband had also seen.

"There were whispers about your undying beauty, of how you resembled a frail little blossom, of how your name did you justice."

Sakura stills as soon as she hears the voice, not exactly expecting him to start talking to her so close (or at all, really), hand still holding tight the door of the bathroom she was about to close.

Her eyes widen, and there are so many alarm bells going off in her brain that she doesn't dare turn for a few heartbeats after he finishes. It's only when she feels a much taller body press up against her back that she lets go of the door and turns around.

It's the Daimyō, just as she had predicted, looking at her like he has since she stepped foot on the establishment. She doesn't even know his first name yet, mostly because she doesn't go outside or hear news about new Daimyō in the nation—or any government news, to begin with. And because the Daimyō own all private lands in the Fire country, as feudal lords only one step below the Emperor, no one can interfere now.

It doesn't help that every person who walks toward them walks away as soon as they recognise the important emblem on his hat.

"I know now they were true. Sasuke-san sure is lucky."

His heavy breath fans over her lips as he dips his head, and there are lines around his mouth that show life has been catching up to him, and she immediately turns her face away. Not that she has ever kissed Sasuke, but this is not him, and she is lawfully entitled to him and him only, so it's not her fault she doesn't want her first kiss to be with a drunk, forty-five year old man she doesn't know.

It's a rude, disrespectful thing to do, but at the moment, in this situation, it's the only thing she can do to not vomit all over his silks. His breath reeks of alcohol and his hands are clumsy when he grabs her face, turning it so that she's facing him once again.

"I have not met a woman with your level of audacity before. I can almost see the fire in your eyes," he almost but purrs, placing his free hand to her neck and caressing the skin there. "Tell me, do you not want this?"

She knows she shouldn't talk, especially since she's been taught to stay quiet during moments like these. But she had never been in situations like these before, so she doesn't really care when she opens her mouth and spits out figural fire. Her patience is running on thin ice.

"I have a husband, Nakamura-san, and I love him very much, so I think that answers your question," she says. It's an obvious lie in her mind, but it should do its work.

In the background, past the hall that separates the bathrooms and the main room, the music of the Geisha increases to a steady crescendo.

"Is that so?" He emits a throaty laugh that she almost feels through his chest as it rumbles, as if silently mocking her. His amber eyes trail over her figure before settling on her face. "And I have many wives, so I know how to share. I don't see the problem here."

"Please," she pleads, her voice coming out a pitch higher when the hand he had used to turn her face lowers to her hip, drawing lazy circles on her hipbone, over the relatively thin layers of clothing. "Let go."

The pleading seems to go to deaf ears. He smirks at her, moving his face closer until she can feel the ghost of a kiss taking place, and says, "I think we should move to a more... private place, don't you think?"

And that's when she snaps.

She breathes in, breathes out, closes her eyes, and pushes with all of her might against his chest. She doesn't care anymore about the consequences, she just wants the man gone. She wants to leave, go to the castle, and maybe never come out again. If this is what happens when she goes out into the world, then she doesn't want any of it.

Or maybe Sasuke should have brought someone with him to follow them were they to leave the table. Or maybe Sasuke himself should have followed the man when he left right after she did. Or maybe, maybe she shouldn't have agreed to any of this because she doesn't even have to be there in the first place.

She was being used as bait for his business plans. Just like he had with the snake man, Orochimaru. Is this what he wanted? Is this why he hadn't come to her rescue? Because he knew? Because he knows exactly what's happening?

It's in between her internal rambling that she finally pushes him away, catching him by surprise right before he could join their lips together.

Sakura runs away immediately, away from him and away from his advisor, who, surprisingly, stands right in the path to the main room knowingly—to the tables where her husband sits.

She turns opposite to where the show was taking place, and runs down the hallway where she had just come from, with neon red lights all around, and misses Nakamura's grasp by a hair.

She feels out of her nature, with her high shoes clinking against the hardwood floor as she runs, and something like a rush coursing through her body. It's a little disorienting, but she manages. After a few set of turns, she finally sees a door at the end of the hallway, open enough for her to see the outside peeking through.

She doesn't know what to do once outside, or what she would say to her husband when they found her so as to not give away any of this, or where she would go. She had been living in another completely different village before her marriage to Sasuke, and she has no idea on how to navigate through this town. But she has to. She has to.

Only that she doesn't reach the door. Instead, she's thrown back harshly by her intricate bun, and crashed into a body once again. Sakura lets out a gasp and struggles to no avail.

"You're going to learn to never run away from me again."

He forces her hands together at the small of her back and makes her walk in front of him back the way she had struggled to run from. They walk past his advisor, who stands with a snarl on his displeased face, and walks to the table on the side, but front, of the stage. It's bad enough what he's tried to do to her, and Sakura thinks she has had enough for one night, but it doesn't appear like that in his mind.

He brings her to the table where they were sitting a few minutes ago.

Now the show she had been looking forward to has ended and, whilst everyone is applauding and standing for the group of Geisha, she's carelessly thrown to the floor like a rag doll, right at the foot of the table.

Nobody important sees her, too occupied to notice her amongst the smoke and bright lights.

But Sasuke does.

He turns around as if her mind calls to him, and stops clapping immediately.

He sees, and Sakura's heart skips a beat when their eyes meet, and just for a tiny, tiny moment, under the colourful lights, she thinks she sees his eyes flash an angry red instead of the usual, bottomless black.

She drops her head, though, and hunches over in shame and something else she can't describe. She's sure her loud mistake in refusing the man behind her will cost her greatly, especially since she had publicly disrespected someone in a higher position than Sasuke, but also since now this was going to make the plans about Shaiga's bridge null.

In the back of her brain she remembers that, as sickenly as he had made it sound before, this outing was a test for her. To see if he could trust her. To see if they could move forward.

She wants to cry at how he must think of that now that she's on the floor by hand of the Daimyō, with no other explanation, with her kimono slightly crooked and her hair a tangled mess.

She has her forehead pressed to the cool floor and her eyes closed tightly for a beating that never comes, so she doesn't get to see him stride over to the Daimyō; she doesn't get to hear the yelling, the accusations against her by Nakamura, or the concern in her husband's voice at the end of the conversation; she doesn't get to see the crowd move away from them, or hear the gasps and the ceasing of the flutes, or see her husband's voice escalate as threats pour over, leaving the older man fuming and demanding respect.

She doesn't get to see or hear any of that, but she feels Sasuke pick her up from the floor, hook one arm under her knees and the other under her head, and she can only give in and shut everything else out at that point. She grabs hold of his sleeve all the way home, hoping that tomorrow, by some miracle, she still has her head attached to the rest of her body.

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	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your kind reviews! They make me smile. Sorry I’m posting this one a little late.

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Samurai are warriors, born and raised as one, dead as having lived the life appointed to them.

They can't own land, they can't rise in the ranks more than a few steps from what they are born into, and they can't live far from their lord's castle—one of the main reasons why the center of every village was overly crowded all the time.

Samurai were what they were from birth and birth only, and there was no way to get out of the situation. Some held positions high enough to meet face-to-face with Daimyō, and some held positions so low that they did not even fight, but helped harvest crops with the farmers.

Still, Samurai, right after fighting continuously in a Civil War neither lost nor won, were regarded as just one step down from Daimyō, a very high status in itself. Farmers, merchants, and traders stood at the bottom of the hill by default.

The first thing and foremost quality in a Samurai was honour. It wasn't written in a book, or manuscript, or piece of cloth; it just was.

Sakura knows this by heart. Her father had trained since birth in the art of the Samurai—had trained her, too—had lived his life amidst a war in his home country, and had led several armies before his time had simply run out. The war took him, as it had taken so many of their neighbours and friends before.

Sakura knows this by heart. She's always been the Haruno clan's only descendant. That's why her mother had agreed upon a marriage proposal to Sasuke—back then, just an important warlord, but even then, more important in the ranks than a warrior; that's why Uchiha Itachi had bothered to look in her direction in the first place. Haruno Kizashi had been the Shogun's closest confidante before his passing, and there had been something in Uchiha Itachi's eyes the first time he visited their small, humble home, that let her know immediately.

As a woman, she couldn't truly continue the Samurai bloodline in their clan, so it was just pure logic that she married into royalty to make up for it—something unheard of, for the most part. Her mother had paid for all the classes, all the hours spent trying to learn the ways of a dutiful wife.

She would really never have it in her to complain.

This is all she thinks about on the way back, hand still holding tight to his robes.

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She remembers getting home, getting out of the carriage and walking rather quickly and shakily to the front entrance. The heavily guarded, two-hundred-feet-tall walls around the compound make her feel less vulnerable, as if the few people at the establishment who had managed to see what was happening couldn't see her now, trapped behind the safest fortress in the country. But Sasuke quietly trailing behind her until they reach their bedroom is a constant reminder of what she had done—of what had just happened.

She remembers entering her bedroom a walking mess, her blue and red kosode—representative of her husband's clan colours and dyed just for her—carelessly open on the first layer by the loose sash, not taking five steps inside the ample room before she has to stop completely. Her hair hangs low in a sad mess from where it had been at the top of her head before the altercation. Her hands are still shaking from the courage she had had in her to run away. Her eyes are bloodshot red with the want to cry but the clear refusal in her brain about the action.

She thinks then, without a doubt as she stands with her head low, that since she hadn't received her punishment back then, she must be definitely getting it in the private confines of the bedroom where no one but Sasuke himself can watch.

But Sasuke closes the door with a definite click she hears echoing, and he walks past her ashamed form without a word from his lips.

Sakura stares at his back until she feels he's going to realise she's drilling holes on the fine silks he's currently taking off at the foot of their bed.

She looks back down to the floor as if it's unbelievable, as if his silence is mocking her one way or the other. And she doesn't know what's worse: the fact that Sasuke doesn't want to comment on the topic or the idea that she probably looks like a trembling lamb waiting to be slaughtered without an idea of exactly when.

She may be no Samurai wife, but she is a Samurai's daughter, and she knows that death is only a dutiful requirement she has to fulfil if the situation calls for it.

When a breeze moves past her and sways her hair out of her face, she looks up again and finds Sasuke on the other side of the room. He stands inside their shared bathroom, bare as ever, with the door not completely slid shut.

She moves her gaze away from the man and shifts in her feet uncomfortably, knowing full well what she has to do. She's not about to sit and wait for some kind of sanction for her crimes after he takes a soothing bath.

Suicide was a common ritual in the nation, were any Daimyō to order it so. He had not ordered her to commit seppuku, but she would if he did, no questions asked. After all, her husband was what she would live for for the rest of her life, as decided by the nation and fate itself, and she couldn't ignore how she had failed her only reason to live considerably.

Sakura lands her eyes on the two swords her husband takes with him everywhere—as every other Samurai he trains does—placed on their bed under his pillows. While Sasuke waits for the water to heat up in the large and rounded wooden bath, she takes the steps necessary to reach the expensive mattress. And while she has her back turned to him, she takes it upon herself to grab the smaller of the swords—the dagger, reserved only for taking one's life.

Sasuke might not have ordered her to do it—yet, she thinks—but Sakura knows what is expected of her, and her family would not appreciate it if she continued living by such dishonour. Her father would not permit it from beyond the grave, that she knows for sure.

So she grabs the small sword and sits on the tatami floor, legs under her and back straight, the bed directly in front of her. She opens, layer by layer, her kosode until she can see her chest bindings and her bare stomach, and takes off every pin that holds her hair in place. Her light hair touches the floor behind her in small waves—the pins making the slightest noise against the tatami—as she points the dagger at her bared abdomen in finality.

She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and relaxes amidst her doubts. The pitiful image of a Shogun's wife on the floor of a public building, exceedingly bowing in front of her husband as a silent request for mercy, makes her resolve harden even more.

It's for her family, for Sasuke and his reputation in a nation he has to lead, and for herself. She must do what she must do, and there is nothing on her mind when she makes the final decision and moves her now-steady hands inward, toward herself.

This is when Sasuke crouches behind her and grabs hold of her small wrist, not letting her plunge the metal into her skin completely. The tip of the dagger is only touching her skin enough to make a small puncture, so small that only a little trail of blood comes out and moves down her stomach.

She gasps, the air knocked out of her as if she had been physically punched in the gut, even though she hadn't even done anything to herself. She had been ready to do it, she had been mentally prepared for this, trained like everyone else in this matter. She knew she could have done it if he hadn't stopped her; she had moved her hands so fast she doesn't understand how Sasuke could have halted them at the exact moment the dagger met her skin.

But he did, and now she can only look down at the barely-there trail of blood seeping from the puncture, the dagger still in place and not moving from the pressure of both of their hands holding it in opposing directions.

She doesn't know if it's a joke; if she had misunderstood and Sasuke had been the one who wanted to end her, so now he wouldn't let her end her own life because of it. But it's none of that as Sasuke commands to her, clear and loud behind her, like the leader he is.

"Drop it," he says, the heat from his still-naked body transferring into her back from the close proximity. "Sakura, drop it now."

Sakura wants to, but she also wants to end this right here and right now, so she still struggles against his strong hold even if she has no chance against him. This makes him hiss behind her slowly, his hold bruising her hands at this point.

She's definitely testing his patience, but even as he wants to forcefully move her hands away from her person, he knows that one wrong move could prove to be fatal. After three cups of pure alcohol, he's not exactly in his right mind, either, and he'd rather not push his luck.

"I can't," she gasps out, her eyes watering in the heat of the moment with unspilled tears. "I have dishonoured you and your family, as well as my own. In that way, I have also dishonoured all of Fire Country, so I rightfully deserve this retribution," she ends, choking audibly on thin air and causing her stomach to contract and expand quickly, making the dagger move into her skin even more. It's a superficial cut and she knows this, but it hurts her terribly for some reason.

"You don't want to do this," he says, sounding so sure of himself that she wants to question his motives for saying so, something she doesn't have to wait much for as he explains it a second later. "We both know I'm supposed to watch you, and yet you sit giving me your back."

She widens her eyes greatly, her faulty plan having been exposed by his calculating mind. It's true, she had been ready to end her own life but not ready enough to let him see her do it. It was the way of Samurai to force every person present in the room to watch the ritual, but she hadn't done it. She hadn't done it.

The shaking returns to her hands.

"Let go, and maybe we'll talk," he warns, voice low and dangerous, and if it weren't for the knowledge that he is her husband and her superior in every sense of the word, she would have plunged the knife all the way in anyway, nevermind his wants or orders.

But he is her husband, and he clearly knows she doesn't want to do it, much to her displease. So she drops the weapon instantly after his clear warning, hands going to the base of her throat as she starts to wheeze and vomit nothing but air.

She was a dishonourable wife and now she was officially a cowardly one, too.

Sasuke stands and heads for the bathroom again, cleaning his weapon with a damp cloth as if nothing out of the ordinary had transpired, but she pays him no mind, coughing and closing her eyes as tight as she can to ground herself once more to this reality.

When Sakura feels like she can breathe again, she starts composing herself by drying her eyes with the back of her hands, which are red and bruised from his previously strong hold. She moves her hands through her hair in an attempt to comb it and closes her kosode tightly around her body again.

She stays on the floor for what seems like a lifetime, just looking at the foot of the bed and breathing harshly, until Sasuke comes out of the bathroom and lays his dagger next to the long sword again, pausing for a moment to look at her fragile figure and walking back where he came from.

"Come," he orders, moving to finally sit inside the bath of warm water, said water reaching the middle of his toned chest and making him sigh in relief.

He had been testing the water and filling up the bath when he'd turned, surprisingly finding his wife on the floor in front of their bed, hands hidden from view and legs tucked under her. He'd first thought she was sitting so as to lie down on the bed, but it hadn't really made sense in his brain at the moment, so he had looked at the bed itself and found his answers there.

It had been a miracle he had noticed the absence of one of his swords on top of the bed when he'd looked over her, and it had been much more than sheer luck when he had stopped her from doing something they would have both somehow regretted.

The alcohol still swims slowly through his eyes when she finally enters the bathroom in small steps, hesitant and fearful. It had been a long day; too long, in his opinion, for her. So he motions her forward and looks up at her, arms extended on either side of the circular barrel and knees bent, legs open.

They were united in everything but blood, so there is no shame in him when she quickly glances between his legs and away.

"You think you dishonour me," he says, closing his eyes and resting his head back against the edge of the wood. "Why?"

It's hard to tell whether he's being sarcastic or rhetorical, or if he's genuinely asking, but as she stands there looking at anything but him, she goes for the latter.

"A man of a higher rank than myself tried to inflict himself upon me. I did not let him, and he embarrassed me in front of everyone at the table—possibly everyone in the locale, too," she speaks, finding her courage as she remembers exactly why she had decided to take her life so adamantly earlier. "Not to mention that your accords about Shaiga's Bridge with the men there were null by the end of the day. And if that was not enough, your reputation in Konoha might be at risk as well for sparing my life."

She finishes her explanation with a shaky exhale, tightening her fists and hugging herself, keeping the layers of her clothes closed in the process.

"A man of a higher rank..."

She looks at his face, still relaxing absentmindedly against the bath, not looking like he had been listening at all. The steam in the small room is now clouding her vision, but she stands her ground and waits for his reply.

Something crosses his eyes as he opens them to look up at the ceiling, and Sakura gasps when the unexpectedly calm words fall from his lips.

"My brother meant the world to me, but he was not enough for one country, regardless of what people may say about peace," he murmurs, head moving back up and eyes shifting to her face for a long moment.

She feels what is left of her breath being knocked out of her when her mind processes the words. He had shut her out so many times in the past about this topic; had refused her comforting touches amidst his vivid nightmares countless of times; had blanked out every time someone mentioned his older brother to anyone else in the past three years.

But now, for some reason as she stands over him on the bath, he talks about him like he's a natural, recurrent topic between them. It baffles Sakura and leaves her confused altogether, and she almost misses his next words if it weren't for the fact that he shifts in the water before he speaks, effectively snapping her out of her thoughts.

"Take off your clothes," he nonchalantly says, patting the edge of the bath at his side with his closest hand.

The words fall from his lips lazily, tiredly, as if he doesn't want to say them at all. She acquiesces the request no matter the volume.

She takes off the layers of silk and lets them fall to the floor without any sense of seduction in her, only a bit of curiosity. The look in his charcoal eyes is a tired one, and he has not made any efforts to have her in an intimate way since their wedding night, so there are no doubts that he was going to now.

Soon, she stands naked amidst the heavy steam—leaving steadily out the thin door and into their bedroom—and sits on the edge of the bath, turned toward him enough to be almost completely facing him. Her hair falls over her shoulders and covers most of her front, making her look some kind of special in the steam from the heated bath, and Sasuke averts his gaze rather quickly.

He moves his eyes away from her own and down her petite body until he reaches the small injury on the upper region of her abdomen. His hand moves on its own accord, tracing the dried up blood and erasing it from her skin with his damp fingers in the process. The cut below her ribs can't be seen anymore, proof that it had been a superficial cut, maybe so much so that they can put this behind them for now.

The pain is dull and almost not there, not nearly enough to make her hiss or hurt terribly, so she only looks down at him from her position and takes him in while he's not looking: the long eyelashes, the damp black hair reaching a little past his shoulders now that it's damp, the calm and collected stare as he traces his thumb down her stomach and a little past her bellybutton.

Sakura speaks because she can't stand the silence. It's the water moving as he shifts and the calculating look in his eyes that make her ask, simple as is, straightforward.

"Why not?" She whispers. There must be a reason why he thinks that his brother—the man who could finally stop the incessant fire in her country, something no other person had achieved before—had not been a good Shogun. Sasuke, surprisingly, answers her without preambles and in complete sentences for once.

"The Daimyō have been commanding and following commands ever since Itachi became Shogun and ended the Civil War in our country," he says, so low she has to lean her body closer to hear it, hands gripping the edges so as to not fall in. "But the Emperor himself named me Shogun when he died in battle, and I reserve the right to govern over every Daimyō in the nation."

She listens carefully, finding it a little hard to focus on his words when his thumb is tracing circles on the sensitive skin at her navel. It's the most she has heard her husband speak toward her—or touch her like this, for that matter—and she doesn't know if it's the alcohol still in him or not, but she grabs the opportunity as fast as lightning.

"Why have they been holding so much power up until now, then?" She asks, genuinely curious as she has always been about this new military government—the Shogunate— that started for the first time with the Uchiha clan a few generations ago.

Her husband's eyes soften imperceptibly because he understands she has been sheltered from the way Fire works now—politically, anyway, as every woman usually is. So he speaks, without any tricks up his sleeve or any carnal desires, and Sakura obeys him with a certain kind of excitement in her movements.

"Join me," he says, motioning to the water and moving his legs to one side so she can extend hers on the other. It's an invitation from his side, one she gladly accepts. He talks in dry and short sentences for the next twenty minutes, but still enough to let her know about how the system works. He talks and lets her ask her questions, and she moves their scented bar of soap against his skin in return.

As Sakura looks at her husband being uncharacteristically patient and understanding with her after she had sunk so low a few hours before, she realises she's glad he had stopped her. She hadn't wanted to do it, and he had known right away.

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Ironically, Sakura's mother visits her exactly a week later.

It's early morning, so early that the sun has not even risen yet, as has not Sakura, but her mother shows up at the front door anyway. Very unusual, so to say, because she had not even tried to visit before; not even once.

She disregards the maids telling her to wait in the lobby, and goes up the stairs to where she knows her daughter is—from past letters where she had described the castle's structure.

In no way will she knock, much less enter, but she waits by the door, looking down from the railing of the stairs and upon the height three floors represent. The workers seem much less intimidating from this position, she thinks.

She waits only five minutes—and she would have waited even more if the occasion asked for it—because Sakura opens the door slowly, eyes glazed over by sleep and small feet covered in light pink socks. Her eyes don't exactly look to the right where her mother stands. She just simply walks to her left, rubbing her own arms to fully wake up once and for all, dressed in a thick white robe from neck to toe.

Sakura's mother sees after her, a surprised look on her face. And as soon as she clears her throat loudly, Sakura turns and looks, and uninterested turns into shocked from one second to the next.

"Mother?" She asks, frowning ever so slightly at the image of her mother standing on the third floor of the castle—the third floor in which no one could ever dwell in for too long when both of them were in their room.

Sakura had woken up and sat up on her bed, sleepy and tired but in need to use the bathroom. When she had approached the bedroom's bathroom, it'd been no surprise when she heard Sasuke showering. They were expected to shower every single morning, but they never did it at the same time, despite the rather intimate bath they had shared a week ago.

So Sakura had gone out of the room and walked to the bathroom down the hall, but never would she have guessed her mother would be standing right outside her door.

Yet, there she stands, beckoning her only daughter to move closer.

"Mother, you never mentioned any upcoming visits in your last letter," she says, finally reaching her mother and standing in front of her.

Her mother inspects her from head to toe, taking in what three years have done to her once-adolescent daughter, eyes lingering for a little too long on the unwelcomed flatness of her stomach.

"I haven't seen you in years, come give your mother a hug and stop questioning me," she says, leaning in and embracing Sakura in a tight hug.

Sakura doesn't really respond at first, feeling too out-of-place at the start. Eventually, as the feeling becomes more familiar, she feels her eyes watering for only a second, and then she finds herself hugging her closest relative back—the only relative left.

"I've missed you too," she whispers again her neck, sighing at the forgotten feeling of having her mother so close, the one who raised her until she had to give her away to the Uchiha clan, the government, and the country. Sakura forgets, for the time being, of how her mother had agreed to the marriage in the first place; there was no use in dwelling in the past, especially over something that couldn't be changed at all, really.

A dark thought crosses her brain at that moment, as she embraces her mother as much as her frail arms let her, and it doesn't surprise that it terrifies her greatly. If Sasuke had not stopped her last week, her mother would have come to the castle only to find her gone. With all her flaws and imperfections, she knew how much she loved her only daughter. She would have been devastated.

They let go and her mother, ignorant to Sakura's thoughts, smiles gently, moving the rose stray hairs away from her line of vision.

"You have changed, Sakura. Look at your face! Uchiha-san has been treating you accordingly, yes?" She asks, moving her hands along Sakura's arms and testing the flesh there by squishing here and there. "You must not lose any more weight, understand? I can feel your bones, and that's not suitable for childbirth."

She wants to roll her eyes, but a sound to her right makes Sakura's fake smile falter.

"Mother," she whispers under breath, mindful of the door she hears shutting loudly inside her bedroom. "My husband is inside the room right now. He can not see you here. Please, wait for me on the first floor."

Her mother snaps out of her smile and flickers her eyes toward the door to her left and away. She seems conflicted and reluctant, not used to her daughter telling her what to do, but she goes down the grand staircase in any case.

Sakura opens the door of her bedroom when she's certain her mother has at least reached the second floor, sliding it shut behind her quickly and looking at Sasuke. He's dressed in formal clothing for reasons she does not know yet.

She stands in front of the door for a long time before he takes notice of her presence. Sasuke glances her way as he moves his tunics around, the Uchiwa symbol proud on his back and hat high on his head.

"What's the occasion?" She asks, feeling particularly bold. That night was progress, right? They hadn't really seen each other much ever since, due to Sasuke spending most of his time outside the castle, but it should have been, unless he didn't remember any of it from the alcohol.

He seems to, for he answers almost immediately, although it's not exactly how she wishes he would have.

"You're forbidden from coming near the West wing of the first floor," he announces, placing his thick obi in place around his hips. "I will be conducting a series of meetings."

She quickly bows her head, muttering an affirmative and relaxing her stance when he spares her a fleeting glance and nods.

She doesn't know why she speaks again, much less why she mentions something so unnecessary, but she does it anyway. Part of her feels more at ease around him, and part of her feels apprehensive still. But she wants them to move forward, her brain keeps emphasising the importance of progress, so she speaks loud and clear, even if he doesn't appear to hear her.

"My mother has come to visit today. I will spend the day on the East side with her, my lord."

He doesn't look at her as he passes her, opens the door, and leaves. But he does mutter a soft prayer under his breath when he departs, and she stays curiously looking at the door for a long time after that.

"Make sure you do."

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Sasuke sits on the floor of one of the empty West wing rooms. Specifically, the room that sits on the corner of the Northwest side of the castle. He slides opens one door that leads to the outside and waits, sitting with his legs tucked under and gaze hard-set on the gardens past the door.

The message had been sent five days prior to the meeting, two days after the incident at the Geisha gathering.

There should be no problems with anyone receiving it if his messengers were of any worth to the title. He had talked to one of his advisors so that he would send the several messages immediately while Sakura had been asleep, unaware of anything and peacefully dreaming on her side of the bed.

Someone opens the door to his left. He moves his head slightly to the sound, letting the person at the door know he's listening, but his attention remains on the gardens ahead of him—ironically, it's Sakura's blooming garden which stares back at him in this part of the compound.

"My lord, all Daimyō have arrived at the castle. They await your instructions," his advisor says, clipboard clutched in his hands and glasses low on his aged nose.

Sasuke nods, his semblance appearing quiet but lethal, prepared for what he has to do. "Lead them here. They should come in one by one through that door," he lifts his hand and points to the opening in front of him, letting it fall under his royal robes after the man understands.

His advisor scurries away after bowing several times, closing the door behind him and delivering the news to every important feudal lord in the entirety of Fire Country. Some had travelled for a few hours, some others had travelled for several days.

Sasuke doesn't particularly care. He's glad all of them had arrived, end of story. If even one of them hadn't shown up, the man would have been killed in his sleep by one or two of his Samurai, no question about it in his mind.

As it is, he patiently waits for each Daimyō, and one by one, he tells them the same thing. The same message he would tell them all, a warning noticeable enough in the low timbre of his tenor; after much debate over two restless nights, he knew he had to do it.

"I am your superior by birth and by the Emperor's wishes," he starts, voice deep and unwavering, touching the hilt of his sword from under the layers of clothes in case of anyone being so unfortunate as to rebel against him. They wouldn't last a second. "I shall therefore treat all Daimyō as my subjects for the better future of Fire," he takes a deep breath and momentarily pauses in doing so, noticing in every Daimyō a certain level of alarm, of fear. This has dragged along for too long, he knows, so he keeps talking regardless of what they may think of him.

He says the words they so much fear because he knows he has been unforgiving enough. The events that took place last week proved it that way, and this was the only way to salvage his reputation as the country's military leader—as so gently put by Sakura—and his marriage vows. By now, elders in his clan's council have already talked about his wife's mistake, and he can not let them take her away from him once more, as they have done with others. He had made up his mind from the moment he first laid eyes upon her—no more wives, no more legal complications, no more wasted time playing romance.

"My brother did rule this country the best way he could, but he was far too lenient on these matters. Those of you who wish to disobey this may quickly return to your villages, pay off your debts, and wait for me. I will act accordingly."

No Daimyō dares to oppose him. No one but one.

It's (unsurprisingly) Nakamura Nogi, the second to last to go inside the room and talk to him face to face, who opposes to his final say in the matter.

Sasuke doesn't dare move when he enters and bows, but he clearly sees how Nakamura visibly flinches when Sasuke does not even attempt to return the gesture.

He sits regardless, and as Sasuke tells him the same he has told the previous Daimyō from every district in Fire, he sees how his face starts to shift slowly. His jaw locks, his eyes harden, and his fists tighten on top of his thighs, covered by silks that could rival Sasuke's in design and elegance.

As soon as he finishes talking, Nakamura audibly snorts and looks at him as if it's all a joke, obviously remembering the events that had transpired the week before—something that Sasuke had hoped he would omitt from the conversation.

Sasuke carefully watches him, not really giving away the small fire burning inside of his being at the audacity of this man. He had threatened him before, he was now giving him one final warning, and the man had the nerve to laugh in his face.

His fingers wrap slowly around his hidden weapon.

"With all due respect, you may have the effects of the alcohol still in you, my lord," Nakamura comments, weaving a hand through his smooth hair and not even looking at Sasuke.

He swallows.

"I think you are stepping over a fine line here, Nakamura," no honorific, no respect, just authoritative commands from now on like it's supposed to be. "I would suggest you accept and go home at once before I change my mind."

He looks at Sasuke, then, and smiles without any semblance of actually finding the conversation funny. The air is filled with tension and contempt around them, and Sasuke narrows his eyes at him and the knowledge that the other Daimyō wait outside for completion of this official gathering. This behaviour must not pass by quietly, or else every other feudal lord will decide to disrespect him whenever he sees fit.

Still, he listens attentively and gives him plenty of time to take it all back.

"I can not accept. You must understand why," he says, looking right through Sasuke's plans. "Might this be your way of covering lady Uchiha from the country's curious eyes? Have you developed enough feelings for your wife that you can't watch her die honourably?"

Sasuke stays silent. He's been giving him way more than enough time to retract his words. Even if he apologises and bows down completely flush against the tatami mat, Sasuke doesn't think he would forgive him by now.

"You may be Shogun, but your brother and all before him were Shogun too, and none of them did what you are," he explains, his tone lowering with each word until, finally, he murmurs words for only the two of them, taking Sasuke by surprise. Words that make Sasuke decide his verdict, watching as a wicked smile traces the older man's lips. "You should know she opened up to me in more than one way. Before, that is, she tried to escape. A pity, if you ask me; I had no intention of taking her from you."

Sasuke stands at the same time he takes out his sword. He has the edge of the polished metal against his neck in one heartbeat, a snarl curling the edges of his lips down.

Nakamura is still smiling, doesn't even flinch at the contact, and Sasuke is pressing the sword and moving it forward as it starts going through his neck when he speaks.

"Uchiha-sama, you may have to consider this further. Out of all the Daimyō outside, I am who governs Konoha, capital of Fire and main village of operations."

Sasuke considers no more. If he had talked to him so disrespectfully from the start because he was sure Sasuke wouldn't end his life, he was very wrong. Another man will rise to occupy his place, and he will make sure the body disappears, only sending a letter to whatever is left of his family with the unfortunate events.

He frowns ever so slightly down at Nakamura, caramel eyes staring right back up with a dark kind of mirth in them. His face is slightly average in the good looks, but his features are ageing quickly and his personality almost reeks of confidence and arrogance, and Sasuke has no doubt in his mind that this man couldn't have possibly done anything to or with his wife. She had personally told him, too, but he can confirm it now—he would have killed him long ago if it had been any other way, this he knows with certainty.

Sasuke takes a deep breath through his nose, loosens his hold on his weapon, and moves it away from his neck slowly. There is a fine layer of sweat on Nogi's forehead, indicative that he was nervous behind all that conceit and pride. As he moves his sword away, he can see the relief crossing his face in small waves.

"A decision has been made. I fear your time has run out, my lord," he mocks him one last time, raising his voice so as to alert the large group of fellow lords outside. They do, some peering around the door and some downright moving in front of it to see more clearly. One of them gasps, but it is lost to Sasuke as he focuses once again on the man below him. "I henceforth end your ruling in this life, and in the next, for opposing to my simple laws and my ruling."

He still sees the pride in his eyes the moment before the sword goes through.

The blood splashes his fine tunics and his neck in small blotches, but he stands and watches the head fall until he is sure the man is dead for eternity. A man of a higher rank, no more.

He looks at his Daimyō, all motionless and bearing practised faces, devoid of emotion, as he silently and carelessly drops his weapon next to the detached body.

"Let this be an example to anyone else who would dare disregard me."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how you edit a chapter 19384838 times and by the end you think it's a piece of garbage because you've just read it so much? Yeah so that happened here, lemme know if it's good or what cuz I'm done with editing this long as heck chapter.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Edit: I edited the part with Naruto being single. He’s married now.

Sakura paces back and forth in the confines of her mind, walking on the nothingness of her thoughts, very much dark and lonely.

She tries to find something to hold on to, anything to grasp to make her feel centred and grounded, but all she does is pace back and forth while her physical body stays still in the present.

Her mother possibly thinks she has not heard her—but she has, she has and she can't stop hearing the same words over and over again in her dark and muddy brain, and she wants it to stop because she does not think she can go on like this for much longer because she hurts, her ears hurt and—so she dares to breathe out the words once more, unsuspecting of her daughter's shocked state.

They are lost in the breeze from the East gardens, but Sakura hears them as loud as she had the first time.

"Sakura, did you not hear me? I am telling you about my engagement, child, show some excitement," her mother exclaims, looking at Sakura's delicate profile. They are sitting on the bench overlooking the trees a few metres away from them—this is where Sasuke trains, past the trees and into the small forest within the castle's fortress.

She finally snaps out of it, looking at her mother with a mix of anger, disgust, and betrayal. All in one look, and Haruno Mebuki can see it reflected off those jade eyes like she can see the palms of her hands.

"You can not marry, mother. You can not possibly marry someone whom you have never met," Sakura retorts, finding the fire within her.

"You did not know Uchiha Sasuke, yet here you are. Do not tell me what I can or can not do, Sakura, I am merely informing you of this in advance."

"Yes, I know that," she says, tightening her hands into fists on her lap, wrinkling the blue fabric that covers her in the process. "But I also know that the man whom you are bound to marry is none other than my uncle, someone who has not been in our family since I was born! He never visited after you moved to Konoha with father!"

At this, her mother flinches, moving her eyes away from ones much like her own, and preferring to look at the pretty, blooming landscape in the shade of a tree, on a bench in the East gardens. She's taken back to a time when the Uchiha clansmen had taken over, and had allowed her to move to Konoha with her husband. They had had Sakura soon thereafter; a sign of peace after the long war; a sign of hope.

Time passes by slowly for Sakura; much too slowly. She doesn't appreciate what her mother is trying to do, especially since she knows, as she has always known, how much she had loved her father. But her uncle? She had never met the man, and she was not too keen on doing so.

"Mother, father's death is still a fresh wound in my heart. I think about him everyday, as I am sure you do," she whispers, calmly this time and without a biting tone. She just wants her mother to reason a little, to see her point of view and realise what really is the problem here. "Why must you wed his brother? A man who has never been around, or cared for father in any shape or form."

Her mother takes a deep breath and speaks with a steady voice, finding it easy to say what comes next. It almost sounds practised, like she has been repeating the same words to herself for weeks, months, before making the final decision. Sakura has no doubts that it's exactly what had happened.

"Your father left me nothing when he left this world," she admits, listening to Sakura's breath hitch but not turning to admire the sight.

She had always thought her father to be an honourable warrior, wealthy as one can ever be because of his close ties with Itachi. But she'd been wrong, fooled as a child and ignorant to the little clues here and there: her mother crying, her father running a comforting hand down her back, the loans and the debts and the days Sakura was the only one to eat in the house because they preferred to starve than to let her be hungry.

Right after the war, provisions had been scarce and country had to recover from the damage inflicted to homes, bodies, and the nation itself. Everyone had helped one way or the other; the same people that had been fighting against each other were then helping each other after the hatred from the Civil War.

She should have known.

"Uchiha Sasuke's dowry to me, as your immediate family, was to only last five years. That was the deal, and a very generous one at that," her mother finishes.

Sakura only listens, but she frowns at her mother's tale—according to her, there were still two years left of the contract. She doesn't understand why she's planning to marry now, so early on, but she explains a second later without being prompted.

"I mustn't wait until I am famished and on the streets, honey. I live alone, I have to take care of everything, and I avm becoming old and grey," she chuckles, but Sakura finds no traces of joy in her laughter. She finds exhaustion.

Her mother had been very beautiful in her youth, but her husband had died in the war and she had been pressured to take care of everything too quickly, throw her daughter into a marriage, and live on her own for years. Her eyes are tired, her bones ache, and Sakura can see the lines of stress between her brows and on the sides of her thin lips. Even as she smiles at her daughter in reassurance, Sakura only feels desperation.

"Mother, please, allow me to help. I can talk to my husband," she places a hand on her mother's, smiling softly as she turns to look at her. "I am certain he will take care of you for longer. There is no need to marry."

Mebuki stays silent for a long moment, her wrinkly eyes shining for a moment too long. Sakura thinks she's about to cry, but she only shakes her head and refuses to accept her ideas.

"No need to bother your dear husband, I am sure he's quite busy," she says, moving her hands away from Sakura's gentle hold. "I signed a legal contract when I wed you to him, Sakura, and there is no telling what he will do if I beg for more. It would be shameful, to say the least, and I will not bring that into this family, you hear? I will marry your father's brother because that is what has to be done, or else I will surely perish as an old, sad widow."

Sakura glances away and gulps down all her worries.

Her mother is right. As much as she hates the idea of her mother marrying after not even ten years of her father's death, she's right. Sakura can do nothing about her mother's ageing process, and if she doesn't marry now, nobody would want her as an old beggar.

Countless of her mother's friends, also widows of Samurai, had married their husband's brother. This was common procedure in her village for the lower and middle class, and she knew there was nothing she could say to change her mother's mind. She was to marry and she was to marry soon, so Sakura nodded once and saw her mother's shoulders lose their rigidness all at once—something that had her chest constricting slightly.

"I understand," she says, a small smile making its way to her lips, albeit forced and fake. "The important thing is that you are ready, and that you will invite me."

She realises her mistake the moment the words leave her mouth, but she doesn't back down. Sakura had only gone out of the castle once, and even if it had been under Sasuke's watch, disaster had found its way into the evening anyway. There is quite possibly no way that she would be let out to attend her mother's wedding, even if it is in the company of most of the village at such a public ceremony. Even if she tells him to send his most trusted Samurai to look over her wellbeing, he would most certainly not let her go.

Still, her mother had probably pleaded to be let inside the castle to see her, just so she could tell her the news. Sakura doesn't want to miss the ceremony, and it would be the perfect excuse to see all the friends she has left behind—all the friends who don't write to her anymore, who have most likely given up hope of ever seeing her again.

She will ask Sasuke. She will ask and he will let her, one way or the other, and she will go to Konoha. Her Konoha. Not where she is right now, which is at the centre of said village. Sakura had never gone to the centre of Konohagakure when she was younger—the place reeked of Samurai and there was no space to walk on the streets.

Instead, she had lived on the Southeastern border, overlooking a river that almost completely surrounds the town. Her father had been a Samurai, but he preferred the quiet of the forest, and Itachi had granted him the pleasure of living there when the Uchiha took over. There was a small market outside the forest, children played on the streets, and farmers cared for the crops of the season. It had been home. It had been freedom.

Her mother stands.

"Thank you for having me, Sakura, I do hope to see you soon," she says, coming closer and hugging her only daughter one last time. Sakura feels her protruding bones under the layers of clothes, and sees the grey in her once-blonde hair when they let go.

"Take care, mother."

She watches her leave, the last hour replaying in her mind like a broken film.

She receives a letter a week later, the date imprinted with her mother's handwriting, and two signatures at the bottom of the page—one familiar and one unknown to her eyes.

.

.

.

Summer comes and brings peace with it to the nation. The Land of Grass slowly repairs and re-builds itself brick by brick, and the Land of Fire prospers as usual. There is a certain calm in the city below the castle; Sakura can tell.

Every morning, a little after the sun rises, merchants and farmers alike walk and bustle around the main roads of commerce, buying the freshest of fruits and fish at the earliest times of the day.

In the past two months, there have been no attacks whatsoever in Fire, something that she is sure her husband is proud of. Warriors train for a war that doesn't come, and Sakura reads everyday in the only library of the castle, on its fifth and last floor—the only one with an open window, no bars attached, she may add.

She has given up on painting; somehow, all she can draw without creating an unrecognisable blob is a bird, and that's because she considers it to be the only animal she does not dislike. She's quite jealous, actually—they can fly, spread their wings to wherever their minds take them, and sing at any hour of the day. They're carefree where Sakura isn't.

But she gives up on it one spring day, and she doesn't try to pick up a brush after that again.

She still takes care of her garden every evening, making sure there is healthy growth in the different flowers—blooming fully and vividly. She's walked around the other gardens of the castle, looking over and inspecting every single plant. With the knowledge of two-years-worth of studying the medicinal properties of plants, she mentally recites all the benefits of all the different plants as she walks past each one.

It's relaxing, and she does it almost every week. She knows for a fact that their family's appointed healer has seen her looking over the plants more than once, but he keeps his distance as she takes notes and sketches them in her small notebook.

Sometimes, she wishes he would approach her. It was one thing to learn from ancient, dusty books, and another to learn from hands-on experience.

She could always order him to teach her his knowledge as the Shogun's wife and he would not question her, but something holds her back. For now, though, she wants to finish the only two books left on the subject in the small library before she tries to learn more efficiently.

She stops knitting, too, almost at the same time she stops painting. Some hobbies, after enough time, tend to seem redundant and one loses interest altogether. She thinks it's normal, so she doesn't mind it, and focuses on reading and caring for her plants.

Sasuke, on his part, spends most of his time at the castle, contrary to his past two years in power. During the summer of their third year married, she sees him from time to time, not nearly enough to talk to him, but enough to know he's around. She mostly sees him at the stables, walking to the training grounds at the end of their backyard—between the grand expanse of foliage and forest—and at his office or in the gardens meditating.

It's peaceful, and even though their routine seems to have turned back around into what it had been at the beginning of their marriage, she doesn't feel it's that way. She feels more at peace around him than two years ago; less tense, less on edge, less like she's doing something wrong, and more like he sees her as what she is—his wife.

It seems silly, but she knows it's true, and it brings her some sense of comfort; she can tell in the way he glances her way from time to time, or seems to hang around her more often, even if he doesn't have a reason to. After all, she'd seen him chiselling his weapons next to her garden a week ago and that in itself had made her falter slightly, specially since he'd appeared out of nowhere when she'd come out to water her flowers. It would be a stretch to call it a mere coincidence, knowing what little she knew about him.

Nevertheless, even if she's positive he knows she's aware, he never comes close to her. He just stays close by, and she can't help but feel a little bit guilty for that. She has the slightest idea of why he would follow her around, but she almost wants to hear it from him.

Sakura plans to find out.

It's the morning, and she wakes up to an empty bed as per usual. She bathes in cool water, dresses herself in a rather ordinary grey kimono of only two layers, and walks down the stairs to the first floor.

While she's leisurely walking to the dining room for breakfast, she hears noises to her right, behind a door on the side of the long hallway.

She pauses in her step and leans in, making sure that no one else is around. The door belongs to the cleaning supplies room, as she has seen before, but there are two voices talking in whispers behind it now. So she leans in from the side of the wall—so as to not create a shadow—and catches a few muffled phrases here and there.

"Last year the poor boy refused anything..." A woman said quietly.

"I think... But-" She hears another woman speak, hushed voices mixing and making it hard for her to follow along.

"Let us try, that man has been incredibly kind to us, and last year he was too busy for this. Remember Danzō?" One them asks in a louder voice and Sakura feels a tremor run along her spine at the mention of the man. He had been the leader before Itachi, before Itachi's father, and even before that. Before the peace and quiet, Danzō had ruled in the country as Shogun. Sakura had not been born when he had fallen to the Uchiha clan, but the stories of horrors would live on for eternity.

She snaps out of her thoughts when another voice speaks louder this time. Loud and clear, Sakura hears them, somehow wishing she hadn't.

"His birthday is only a few days away, do you think we can have everything ready by then? It's such short notice. We must invite all the high officials in the country, too."

Sakura steps away from the door, then. She hears their faint whispers resuming, but tunes them out and starts walking back to the dining area.

His birthday.

The words seem to ring in her ears, echoing through her head and making her dizzy for a moment. It's his birthday in a few days, but then she slows down her pace, and really thinks about that for a moment—he's turning thirty, and she has never acknowledged his birthdays since they married.

In fact, they hadn't acknowledged or celebrated their own birthdays at all in all that time, merely celebrating the New Year as it had passed—which could be considered a birthday on its own, as it also was with every person in the village, but he is Shogun and should celebrate his own birthday on that separate day. As a show of supreme power, just like the Emperor does each year.

She tries to remember whether the Uchiha had ever celebrated their birthdays while in power, but comes up with nothing.

When she reaches the dining room, Sasuke is already settled in his customary seat, hands under the table and eyes set on the smooth surface.

Sakura sits. They eat in silence and that's not much of a strange thing, but the way he keeps glancing up at her from across the large span of the table is. She pretends she doesn't feel him looking for the longest time, but it gets to the point when it just feels ridiculous.

She looks at him and he's taking a bite of his rice when their eyes meet, light and dark, both filled with something they can't decribe.

He looks away first.

.

.

.

Sakura approaches him the next day.

Suffice to say that it had taken all of her morning to prepare for this. She had spent hours thinking just how to properly approach this subject, knowing full-well how it could backfire in the span of a second.

She looks for him two hours after lunch, walking outside the castle and into the gardens, past the entrance of the forest and inside. After lunch, she has noticed that he's prone to train. He waits an hour or two, then heads into the protection of the dense foliage with his favourite katana in hand.

Sakura spots him with ease because of that.

She stops walking before he can realise she's there, and then she considers the idea of approaching him at another time. She could approach him after dinner, or even at night in their bedroom. But she's here now and he's a few metres away, grunting as the blade gets stuck inside the bark of a tree.

She has always known her husband to be very, very strong. Looking at him now, she thinks it's more about agility and swiftness than strength, and can't help but keep looking—ogling would be the better word, she thinks. She finds herself rooted to the spot behind a tree, watching him with wide eyes, much like a toddler would at something extraordinary.

Sasuke moves with graceful swipes of his sword against the rough bark of a tree after he finally gets the metal out from another; his sword shifts and swipes at one tree, two trees, and even at the air. He turns and moves the metal against the breeze that shakes the leaves of trees, shirt off and baggy pants held at his hips by a thick obi. It's almost like he's dancing alone, were it not for the fact that there is a quiet type of fury in his lightless steps.

His skin shines against the small spheres of light that filter throught the tall canopy of the trees, glistening with a thin layer of sweat. Sakura thinks it might not even be from the training, but from the hot temperatures of summer.

His hair is past his shoulders now, tied behind him in a low ponytail, something that makes her eyes narrow slightly. Right then while he's with his back turned and his arms tense, he resembles his older brother most. Yet his hair is shorter than Itachi's and his built is leaner. He is not his brother, even if the resemblance is uncanny.

Feeling faintly out of breath, she swallows and makes her appearance by taking a few more steps toward him—there is no point in leaving now, she reasons, and risk being spotted anyway.

When a leaf sounds under her second step, he tightens his hold on the weapon and turns toward her quickly, only to relax once again at the sight of his harmless wife. She looks much too small in such a big forest.

Her eyes are gentle and her lips are tilted up, the thin kosode hugging her small frame in all the right places. Sasuke turns back to his tree.

"Dear, I have been looking for you," she states, still standing a few good metres from him and smiling softly. He sheathes his sword back into its holster and walks toward her in slow strides, something that she hadn't been expecting. If anything, she had thought he would ignore her at first.

"What for?" He says, his voice rough and spent, breaths coming out slightly ragged and broken from training. She clears her throat and joins her hands on the front of her dress, beginning to get nervous.

"I would like to speak with you, my lord, if you so consent," her words feel foreign in her mouth, somehow sounding strange at this point in their relationship.

He is her superior in every possible way, but things have changed since that day in spring when they'd shared a bath and talked the night away, and Sakuda feels the detached words coming from her lips to be too far from the truth of what she's feeling.

She has to treat him with the utmost respect if she wants to make things right for them, though, so she just smiles and cranes her head up to look into his dark, dark eyes.

Her husband makes a face at her and then picks up his shirt from a log on the ground, carelessly rubbing it on his face to rid himself of the sweat, the heat, and the humidity in the air around them. He throws it over his right shoulder and looks down at her again with a sigh.

"Drop the formalities, Sakura," he says, making her small mouth open in disbelief. "What is it?"

The way he addresses her makes her small smile drop. She frowns and looks at the place where he had been a few seconds ago, training, so that she can think her words through, pressing her lips together in a disarray of thoughts.

She locks her eyes with his the moment Sasuke finds himself standing in front of her, one short metre of distance between them.

"It's your birthday soon, I overheard. What day is it?"

His eyes widen for a short second, not nearly short enough for her to not notice. He is momentarily surprised by her question.

Sasuke stares at her for a longest time, almost as if trying to decode the mystery that is her; he's starting to think that with Sakura there will always be strange, nonsense questions, moments out of the blue like these that make him question her sanity. First it was Yami's attempt at destroying her flowers, then it was the white cat that she'd wanted to name yet didn't care for, then this: his birthday—a date so ordinary to him as with any other day of the year.

"In four days," he says instead, frowning down at her. He can almost see the wires forming links inside her head.

"Four days?" She asks, humming after a pause and looking up at him again. He almost wants to ask what she's getting at with all this intrigue about his birthday—it's not like she had ever cared before.

"Everyone at the castle is planning on throwing a celebration for you, Daimyō and high-ranking personnel included," she admits to him as if nothing, watching as his face gives way to a snarl. His jaw locks and his dark eyes look past her and toward the castle, killing intent ever-present. Sakura takes one step to the left, blocking his view from the grandeur of the building.

"No need to feel threatened. I think you should acquiesce without question," and at this, Sasuke raises an eyebrow at her, daring her to keep talking against the pressure of his calm and indescribable gaze.

"Go on," he says, moving his eyes to and away from the exit of the forest and into the forest of her green eyes.

This birthday celebration could mean something to them; it could further develop their frail relationship. More importantly, it would show every high-status person in the nation of Fire just how well Sasuke is faring as Shogun. She would stand by him all throughout the evening, giving everyone a glimpse of who she really is and how well they are doing together, as a couple. By the end of it, every man and woman in the room would respect, if not them, then him.

She speaks the truth; it's twisted to his desire for respect and power, but it is true.

"You have garnered plenty of attention from Fire, and all its neighbouring countries, as a powerful and just military ruler. Under your command, many have felt at peace—something no one had felt for a long time," she pauses, watching his calculating gaze streaking across her face in wonder. "A celebration in your honour seems befitting, in my opinion, and very well-deserved. It can reiterate the idea of how much power you really hold."

There is a pause in between her long answer and his reply where they stare at each other. Sakura is just inwardly glad she had not stuttered during her speech, as nervous as she had felt.

"I will talk this over with my advisors," he finally says, jerking his eyes away from Sakura's and moving past her in a rather hurried pace.

She turns just in time to watch him retreat silently out the forest. She could let it go—after all, he'd seemed to think over the idea of a birthday celebration, even if he couldn't admit it—but something tugs at her chest, twisting and turning and calling for her to act. Something that she has ignored for long enough, the wasted paper in her pocket calling to her in silent whispers. Her fingers twitch and her heart acts out on its own, and Sakura does not regret it when she calls out to him.

"Wait!" She exclaims, looking at his retreating back in the large expanse of the forest around them. She takes a few steps forward to reach him in time, and stops hurrying after him when he stops and tilts his head toward her direction, clearly conveying the message of listening to whatever she's thinking of.

"I have more to say."

Sasuke doesn't reply, but he still stands there giving her his back, at least listening to what she has to say.

With trembling fingers, she takes out the crumpled letter she has treasured for the past two months, moving to stand beside him and showing it to him with a now-steady hand; there is no need in letting him know about her nervousness. He takes it and looks it over, brows furrowed and mouth set in a thin, straight line.

"My mother... she's newly engaged. I promised I would go to the wedding, which is taking place in a month," she murmurs, looking down at her sandals. They're, unfortunately, getting dirty with the relatively wet soil—the humidity in summer is already bad enough, but the forest just amplifies everything to suffocating degrees.

"Why would you do such thing? You know the rules," he says, silently giving her the letter back.

"I am aware of my restrictions, but we could take precautions," she starts, feeling the start of a negative comment grow at the tip of his tongue. "I can have one of your men look over me everywhere I go, so I will never be left alone."

With an intake of breath, she looks up at him from the side and pleads with her eyes, even as he faces straight ahead of him. His eyes show no specific emotion as he glances her way, but she still tries one last time.

"Please, Sasuke-kun?"

Somehow, the mention of his first name in such an intimate manner gives her hope for mercy, for a positive answer. She feels it in the way his shoulders tense up, the hair on the back of his neck standing on edge.

He spares her a fleeting glance, tired eyes looking over hers before he quickly glances away.

"No, and that is final."

He starts walking again, out of the forest and out of sight.

.

.

.

The celebration is nothing short of grand.

The halls are filled with high-class Samurai, Daimyō, and distant relatives. There are countless of exquisite dishes intricately made for any kind of taste in several tables. The main room and the dining room are filled with melodic music from a small group of people playing on the sidelines, and every man in the room has at least one woman at his side—though silent and following orders.

Sakura, apart from walking down the grand staircase with Sasuke by her side and standing by him as he gives a short speech, has not been doing much. It's not that she doesn't enjoy the festivities and the lively vibe of the castle—livelier than it ever has been, really—but she feels out of place.

Sasuke had delivered to her the final word the week prior, and Sakura had not found it in herself to forgive him so quickly. She had wanted to go outside and visit the home where she grew up in, visit her friends, and go to her mother's wedding. She still wants to do those things, but it's impossible under his watchful gaze.

Every turn she takes, every activity she partakes in around the castle, he's watching. Before, he would stay at a reasonable distance and do his own thing, feigning the fact that he'd been watching what she was doing. Lately, though, he's not even trying to hide it anymore. He stands close and watches her enter their room, the bathroom, go to the gardens, go to the library, and it never fails to make her very self-conscious. Her hands shake as she's turning a page and she trips more than once on the way to her side of the gardens.

She's getting sick of it, if she's honest, because he won't say a word. She would at least tolerate it if he tried to have a normal conversation, but he never attempts it. She would be lying if she says it doesn't unnerve her.

She sips on her second cup of sake, thankful for the dimmed lights of the evening's candles as she drinks more than a wife is supposed to. She doesn't particularly care this evening, and it makes her angry that she was the one who convinced him of this party in the first place, and now she's sipping on her sake in a corner, feeling her insides turn every time she remembers his final response to her request for supervised freedom.

She's not asking for much. At least, she doesn't think so. In the three years she has been married to him, she has only gone outside once. She has seen her mother only once as well, and followed his every command without question. It seems for nothing, now, as her light makeup-covered face hides behind a wall that separates the kitchen from the main room, and he's somewhere in the crowd.

Her new home is full of new faces she doesn't recognise and she's thankful only a few handful of guests had stopped to talk to her as the hours had passed—the few people who even cared who she was.

Someone touches her back softly as the third hour of the celebration approaches, and she turns with a gasp.

It's Sasuke, looking down at her with a look she can't decipher. The lights are low, and she can barely see his eyes from under his long bangs, but she feels his gaze on her all the same.

"Are you-"

And then the room is submerged in total silence after a loud banging noise from the entrance resonates.

It's deafening and it startles her, taking a quick glance at Sasuke out of the corner of her eye and seeing he's just as confused as she is.

When people whisper his name, and everyone bows on the floor, Sakura understands. She quietly leaves her cup on the table next to her and bows as well, watching as her husband bravely stands his ground.

She widens her eyes at this, baffled—what does he think he's doing? He should bow, he should be bowing with her and the rest of the people in the spacious room, but instead he merely looks upon the intruder by the entrance with annoyance, and narrows his eyes.

"Sas-" She starts to berate him, but a loud voice cuts her off and she inwardly flinches.

"Sasuke! You fucking bastard! Care to explain why I wasn't invited?"

Every person inside the main room cleverly remains bowing on the polished floors, albeit their eyes shine with amusement now. Sakura takes a curious look, lifting her head up a little in order to see the man she had previously thought to be part of a legend—this person whom she thought didn't even exist and was only an idea in people's brains.

But the regal robes are unmistakable and the white and red hat upon his head is hard to ignore.

The bluest eyes stare at Sasuke while he walks toward him in angry strides. Hair somehow blonder than Ino's and skin uncharacteristically tanned and otherworldly, Sakura stares at the Emperor.

Sasuke, standing beside her, shifts uncomfortably and looks at everyone around them, giving another look to the Emperor, who seems to come to his professional senses and stops walking toward him for a second.

"Oh, yeah, um..." Scratching the back of his head, he looks at all the guests and waves his hand dismissively in the air. "You can stand, no need for formalities at a party!"

Sakura stands, hesitating for only a moment, and shifts her eyes between her husband and the approaching entity, barely registering that the music and the talking have once again started.

"You truly are a loser, barging into my home like that," her husband says, a warm tilt to his tone even if the words aren't anything close to being friendly.

"You did not give me a choice!" He reaches them at last, taking in his friend and shifting his eyes to the side, sparing a glance at his rose-gold companion. She can't help but redden when he smiles—especially since it's the first genuine smile she receives since the last day she saw Ino, way back in time before any of these important decisions were taken and her life goals were decided against her will. "And you must be Uchiha Sakura, correct?"

She gives a nod and smiles, not really sure if she should speak. This man might know her husband for some reason, but he does not know her.

"She's so cute! She's even prettier than Karin!" The Emperor exclaims, taking her face in his hands and coming closer with an adoring smile in place. She doesn't know how to react, so she doesn't, but the peculiar name makes her eyes shift toward her husband in silent contemplation, almost questioning him with her stare. "How come you always get the cute ones?"

"Naruto, that's enough."

It is muttered in between his teeth, stance rigid and eyes threatening, and yet she feels no real hatred behind the words; they feel empty against the bustling of the crowd moving about, talking and glancing toward Sasuke here and there. The idea that this man knows her husband from the past is obvious—if his crude statements at the start weren't indicative of closeness—but she also wonders. Just how close are they, really?

"Fine, fine," the blond says, taking one step backward.

She realises with startling clarity, once his warm hands are gone from her face and she can finally breathe again, that Sasuke is avoiding her gaze, which doesn't make any sense to her given his past glances. He has been eyeing her every step for months now. Then Naruto comes in, compliments her, mentions someone by the name of Karin, and–

Naruto makes a small pout, Sasuke frowns at him, and Sakura detaches herself from the conversation, silently taking one step away from their godly faces.

It's the first time she sees the Emperor, yet they act like they see each other every week.

"You have been married for too long, loser. You should watch that tongue of yours, lest I tell your wife."

She faintly hears an insult being directed at her husband, and then decides it's her cue to walk away. So she leaves, grabbing her half-empty cup once again and walking through the crowds into a quieter area.

Karin rings off the walls with every step.

.

.

.

As she's bidding farewell to the last guests in the castle, she finds herself staring into sky blue eyes all over again. Naruto stands in front of her all of a sudden and she bows her head immediately, not even thinking about the motion, though the feeling of a hand on her shoulder makes her visibly start. Naruto feigns to not notice her small jump at the sudden gesture.

"I hope to see you soon, Sakura-chan," he says, twinkling eyes and radiant smile stealing her breath. She nods, stunned and out of her element when he calls her so informally and so intimately, before speaking directly to him for the first time.

"I hope so too, my lord."

It looks like, for a moment suspended in time, he wants to tell her something else. The edges of his full lips lift and part slightly, ready to say whatever is on his mind, but the presence of Sasuke next to her makes him think twice.

Naruto leaves with a light squeeze to her shoulder instead, his guards dutifully trailing after him from a short distance.

A woman closes the door of the entrance and leaves to her duties after making sure it's locked, and Sakura breathes out a sigh, turning around just in time to catch herself from bumping into Sasuke. He is looking at her, eyes indescribable and hair covered by his hat, for what seems like the nth time since forever.

Sakura feels the urge to ask him, demand him, right then as the castle's workers bustle around with cleaning supplies, about these glances he throws her way. She doesn't understand them—albeit she has the slightest idea. One thing she knows for sure: Sasuke is not vain, nor does he think of her as a beautiful woman.

She may be considered pretty by most, but Sasuke is not one to be swayed by looks. There is something on his mind every time she catches him looking at her; she knows this, and it makes her curious about his reasons behind it.

Not curious enough, obviously, as she walks past him without a word and heads for their room. It's been a long day and she feels tipsy, so much so that she only desires a good night's sleep sans her customary long bath.

"Sakura," his voice sounds behind her.

She's not surprised at first—because it's her husband—but she's frowning a second later because it's not really like him to call after anyone, and she can't help but to falter on the very first step of the wide, central staircase.

She turns around.

"This event today," he starts, crossing his arms over his chest and walking toward where she stands, patiently and slowly. Something about it makes her hair stand on edge, her body turning fully toward him. "I believe it served its purpose."

Sakura's delicate eyebrow lifts, and a frown turns into an interesting look in the time she takes to process his words—process, because every word matters with him, and they all have a different meaning with each context.

A small smile lifts her painted, red lips, catching the unspoken words from his prideful lips.

"Is this your way of thanking me, husband?"

"What happened to calling me by my name?"

This she does not expect. Her lips part, clearly baffled and at a loss of words. Had Sasuke drunk when she wasn't looking? Had he drunk cup after cup and ended up inebriated? His openness reminds her of a night not too many months ago, inside a wooden bath sharing his knowledge of the world while she listened. He had been the same then, and now it seems like that applies too—especially because he had called after her from all the way down to the door, while she'd been on the stairs on the other side of the spacious room. Especially because he now appears to want her to call him by his first name.

Sakura resists the urge to guide him to their room carefully, mindful of his possibly drunken state, and let him sleep it away.

She bites her lower lip, briefly looking away and back into his eyes, the advantage of standing on the first step of the stairs making their heights levelled; equal, for the first time.

"I believe it served its purpose," she answers, soft and knowing, and takes another step higher whilst still looking at him. There is a mild kind of amusement dancing in the corners of his mouth, almost invisible under the soft lighting of the castle.

She may think he's drunk out of his mind, but whether that's true or not doesn't matter to her.

This is how she wants him—walls down and amused smirk on, eyes attentive to her every word. So she takes it, grabs the opportunity before it struggles out of her dainty grisp, and she holds on to it tightly for as long as she can.

And she asks, because she has to ask, but maybe because she had drunk two cups of alcohol with no intake of food whatsoever, and it had been years since her last real cup—specifically, on her wedding day.

"Sasuke-kun," she addresses him this way, pulling him closer emotionally and mentally, pulling down the barrier that always seems to separate them and calling him by whatever he wants her to, however much he's actually aware of this. His lips are back to a straight line, the renmants of their small moment now dissipated into the air around them.

"In the past weeks, I have seen you approach me, but only watch; you watch me, but stay quiet. Why?"

He talks before she has the chance to continue speaking, and her breath catches in her throat at the unexpected interjection, surely not expecting him to answer her so quickly.

"Can I not watch my wife as she moves about my home?"

Sakura purses her lips together.

This time, she knows he's drunk. There is certainly no way for him to speak this freely when he's not in this state, so it's the only explanation of how he can do it now.

Or maybe, a simpler explanation would be denial. Sasuke may be trying, all along, to outsmart her so he doesn't have to answer her question, but she must try harder, push past the thicker barrier of his pride. One way or the other, he will answer. So she pulls through with a loaded question, heavy with implications and curiosity.

"It is quite a coincidence, though it took me some time to understand," she ponders out loud, shifting her eyes from his to their double doors and back to his serene eyes again. "This is about what happened that night, is it not?"

Sasuke doesn't know what to make of her glinting eyes. There are two candles at either side of them, almost but not quite in between their close bodies, and Sasuke can see how the flickering light dances across one half of her delicate face in detail, even if she can't see his much.

"If so, please rest assured. I obviously am not planning another thing like that anytime soon," with a short, bittersweet laugh that's far too fake and far too wrong, she waits for him to answer. It does not come.

He doesn't have to. His eyes look over hers from the distance that separates them, and they try to convey all that he wants to say. Just a yes, just a confirmation to her doubts, just a quiet affirmative to all unanswered questions. She feels the answer like she feels the heat from the candle at her side.

"Obviously," he mutters under his breath, looking just as exhausted as she does all of a sudden.

She feels tired. The night is drifting one second at a time and she wants to go sleep, for she knows what has been done by her friends. She speaks with a gentler edge to her voice than usual, being careful in sounding stable.

"I wish to sleep."

She's not asking, and she can't be for certain about what he takes from it, but she's merely letting him know. She wants to sleep, and she wants to forget this entire day altogether—way too many things to process in one night; who is Karin? Who really is Naruto?

When Sasuke doesn't answer for a few heartbeats, she takes it upon herself to walk away, treading up the stairs silently and slowly, waiting for him to stop her again for any number of reasons.

He doesn't.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: light smut at the end.

He watches her because he couldn't do it before. He watches her because she might be there, in his castle, reading or walking or taking care of her flowers, and the next moment she might not.

He watches her because she's Sakura, a very layered and unpredictable human being, someone who openly lashes out at him for having her garden ruined, but remains silent when he suggests her personally-arranged bento may poison him.

He watches her because he doesn't quite trust her—or anyone, for that matter, other than the ghosts which haunt him.

He watches her for her own good.

Whether his wife stays in the castle or goes out does not matter in terms of her safety; in the end, he has come to learn this the hard way, though he's tried to avoid it like the plague.

Back at the Geisha-filled locale, while the women commenced their dance, Sakura had inched closer to him in her seat. Close enough to whisper and be heard, but not enough to earn glances from every other person at the table.

He had let her out of his sight after nodding once to her request, something that he hadn't thought much of back then; after all, accompanying her to the restroom would have been a waste of time, mundane, even. It had been only a few minutes of absence, and he hadn't suspected anything from it—he hadn't even seen Nakamura get up from the table to begin with, and that in itself angered him more than it should have—but it was enough for whatever had transpired in the back of the locale to take place.

His wife has gone out of the castle one time only, and that one time was enough to show him the dangers of letting her out of the protective barriers around their home.

This is what makes him oppose to her wishes of going outside, visiting her mother and attending her wedding, and he doesn't quite feel any slice of remorse about his decision.

He knows what he's doing; he knows why he says no and why she takes hopeful glances at him, only to feel disappointed again at his silence; he knows why she keeps trying to talk to him in the days following his birthday celebration, if only to make him change his mind.

He knows all this, but he can't let her go, and that is written in stone inside his brain.

Yet he watches her every move inside the castle instead, and it seems redundant to do so at first, especially considering that he has guards stationed in every possible entrance of the fortress and the castle itself.

However, Sasuke is aware that she's in danger outside the castle's protective fortress as much as she's in danger inside of its walls. The image of her lithe fingers moving his small dagger toward herself is one he can't forget, and probably never will, even if she has assured him that it won't happen again.

So he watches her, even as she catches on to his lingering glances; his way of remaining close and far away at the same time could almost be mistaken for shyness, but it's only a precaution he's willing to take.

He watches her because his arms tingle and prickle every time she looks up at him and offers a small smile.

He watches her because he has had enough wives, and he doesn't wish for any more, so he'd rather watch his current wife as she moves around the castle than find her dead inside their bedroom one day.

Sakura may be confusing, talkative, way too optimistic and fierce, but Sasuke—though not physically proven in any way or form in the course of their quiet marriage—somehow knows that she's also kind, caring, and patient. Her desire to see her family proves it so, in some ways, and the constant reading, added to the care she takes in her garden, only prove it further.

Her smile is kind and her eyes are kinder, and when she talks to him her voice is gentle, soft. It all makes it really hard to let her go out of sight.

.

.

.

Sakura closes the book slowly and smiles to herself when she puts it back on the shelf. It's the last of the plant section, and she tells herself that she can finally order the clan's healer to teach her more—order because she's not sure he'll let her know on the Uchiha clan's secrets by only asking nicely, though she is technically part of it now.

The sun is directly overhead the castle by now. She estimates she has about five hours before the light hides behind the tall treetops in the horizon, and so she takes her time in walking out of the small library on the fifth floor, walk down the stairs, flight by flight, in order to think about whether she should go ask the healer now.

The castle is quiet, save the workers moving here and there in preparation for lunch and a few cleaning behind every hidden corner. She feels the village outside resembles the inside of the castle, too.

It's a peaceful day.

Seeing as she has nothing else to do, she decides it wouldn't hurt to ask the family's healer now, a man in his fifties, probably, with hair that used to be jet black now grey and pulled back in a low ponytail, eyes wrinkling in the corners and wary of her. She has seen him before, though from far away, every time she goes to tend to her flowers or wander around the other sections of the expansive gardens this place offers.

A maid had disclosed to her who he was not too many months ago, for Sakura had not the slightest idea. It hadn't crossed her mind he was a healer, a physician with knowledge from past ancestors who had dealt with Uchiha all the same for centuries. Sakura really couldn't blame herself; after all, in the three years she has been married to Sasuke, she hasn't seen him come home injured gravely.

A few scratches here and there, but nothing that couldn't be cured on its own.

She had never seen him actually go to someone after his battles; he usually just entered his study or the bathroom. Either he was really good at sneaking into a secret, unheard of basement without her finding out, or he had never really gone to the healer's aid to start with.

This brings her to stop walking down the stairs as she reaches the second floor, mind stopping her from creating any more displaced thoughts. She doesn't even know where the healer lives. She has seen him, yes, but he has been somewhere different in every single instance—next to a door, in front of the forest's entrance, leaning against the wall of the castle, leaning down to pick medicinal herbs for inspection.

She doesn't know where to start looking for him, but she knows, in a distant part of her brain, that Sasuke's office is on the second floor, at the end of the hallway on the left. And she knows Sasuke is still inside, for the castle wouldn't be so quiet if he was out, walking about.

She hesitates as her feet touch the tatami of the second floor, eyes shifting from the hallway on the left side of the wide hall to the staircase that leads to the first floor.

She could always ask someone else for the physician's whereabouts. It shouldn't be something that anyone would dare keep from her. But something tugs at her to move opposite from the stairs, walk around the sharp corner of the hall, and stop.

Soon, she's standing at the beginning of the long hallway. The walls at her sides are devoid of any frames, just simple and beige—and still, though simple at first glance, they are framed with gold, delicate circles and lines at the bottom and at the top, blending with the white ceiling and too easy to miss.

She takes a deep breath and strides forward slowly, slowing down her pace the more she gets closer to the door at the end. It's imposing, tall and wide and grabbing all her attention. The paper of the sliding door is white and thick, not really letting her see much past it as she had hoped.

She wants to turn back around. The more her soundless steps take her closer, the more she wants to step away. It's a loud and uncormfortable conflict inside her mind; a war between wanting to ask her husband and asking someone else.

She tells herself to relax, take a deep breath, and think of it as a test to prove herself. She feels comfortable enough to establish a conversation with him and simply ask, no tricks up her sleeve. Surely, he must be busy, but not busy enough to turn her away with one simple question in mind. After all, it is a quiet, peaceful day.

It's a peaceful day until she has her hand on the space of the inwards handle, ready to push the material of the door to the side and enter, and hears something slamming against what she guesses is a table, the force of the blow making her freeze in the act.

She stops, her hand tensing for a moment too long, eyes wide and mouth parted as two voices behind the door talk in hushed tones.

Sasuke is not alone in his study, it seems, and she drops the hand she had been ready to use, lips pursing together in frustration. She recognises one of the voices as belonging to her husband, but the other one is unknown to her, though it is a bit raspier and higher-pitched than Sasuke's, and a male's.

Sakura has to leave, and she's aware of this, albeit she stays rooted to the floor when the voices escalate and filter through the paper. It might be thick, expensive paper, but it is paper all in all, and she catches the words exchanged for a good two minutes of silence from her end.

"What is the meaning of this," her husband asks—demands would be a better word, she thinks, as she hears the dark tone of his voice become even deadlier, taking the form of something she has never heard before.

"I am in no position to lie, Sasuke. It would be quite troublesome to deal with the repercusions."

"Do not play around with this, Shikamaru. It has been three years since his death."

"It has been three years since his strange disappearance."

There are a few muffled sounds, and then a choked gasp, before Sasuke speaks again. It's spoken lower this time, and Sakura has to bow her head closer to hear the threatening words spill forth.

"My brother died honourably in battle. I was there when it happened, so do not insinuate otherwise."

"But," she hears another gasp, followed by a restrained set of words that make her husband release him from his strong hold, coughs falling from Shikamaru in succession. "Did you see him die? Did you see how he died? Did you ever find the body?"

There's silence after that statement, and Sakura finds it in herself to snap back to her situation, one that shouldn't be transpiring. She turns and walks away silently, careful to not make a sound against the tatami-lined floor, and hears her husband answer right before she's out of earshot. His words make her swallow audibly, finally rounding the corner of the hall and stepping down to the first floor, heart pounding against her chest wildly.

"No."

.

.

.

Lunch is spent in silence.

Usually, she wouldn't expect anything other than this, for it has been this way since she entered his life. Her husband sits opposite to her at the long table, the distance between them almost unnecessary, though she still manages to catch his every twitch and scowl.

Something is troubling him today, and she feels like an intruder in his home when she's sure of what exactly is bothering his mind, delving into his thoughts with unanswered questions. She had heard the conversation between him and one of his advisors not two hours ago, and all she wants to do now is walk over to him and encase him in her arms in a comforting hug—not because he would ever tell her to do so, but because she sees his every changing expression like never before, written all over his face in waves of anger, frustration, and something else she can't comprehend.

His eyes get lost in different spots of the table from time to time, his mouth barely tries the food laid out before him, and, at one point during lunch, she hears him huff and snort through his nose, the sound startling her for a moment before she keeps chewing her food.

The topic of Itachi is always a delicate one with him, as she has come to learn, and so, even though she wants nothing more than to make him forget the insinuation of his brother not being dead at all, she stays silent all throughout the day.

He doesn't sleep in their bed that night or the few more that come that week.

.

.

.

Sakura walks through the forest, the same one Sasuke uses to train almost everyday, moving her sandals along the fallen leaves so as to not touch the dirt too much. Even when she takes great care in this, she doesn't find it in herself to care when her small feet get dirty anyway.

She strolls around and through the area, looking at every tree that has slices all over from the thin, sharp weapon her husband uses, and stopping at each one to look more closely.

He has been distant. It has been a week, and all she has seen of her husband has been at lunch and dinner, albeit not even at each and every one of them. Sakura seldom sees him at their bedroom, and the times she does he never glances her way.

She hates this; she hates this because one day he was there and the next he was gone from her side; she hates this because they have been working on what they have for half a year now, and he has cut their development from one day to the next.

It shouldn't bother her as much; after all, ever since the start of their marriage, she has given up her hope in developing their feelings. Sasuke seemed to have none for her and none for their arrangement, so she has technically given up a long time ago.

It shouldn't bother her as much, but it does. It does, because she has been working ever since that night not so many months ago; ever since she saw him stop her from ending her life too soon for all the wrong reasons.

So it bothers her that he's shut off what little communication they had established and all the progress in between—especially since she has to remain by his side until the end of her days, so she supposes that talking to him and establishing a sense of trust is only a basic, nornal thing to do in their position.

Sakura sighs at the clean cuts along the bark of a tree, takes two steps back, and bumps into a hard chest.

She jumps and recoils quickly, finding it in herself to turn and look up at the face of her husband; but she finds nothing there, just an eerie emptyness so unlike what she had seen during lunch the week before.

"Sasuke-kun!" She exclaims, closing her mouth shut when she realises she has almost screamed his name in horror, or surprise, though the difference between them is separated by a thin line.

He only regards her for a few more seconds before he sidesteps her with a small frown pulling down his lips, quietly passing by her and taking out the katana from the obi on his waist.

Sakura glances at the white, open haori, the purple obi around his small waist, and the navy pants, wide and informal for mobility purposes. The wide set of his shoulders stand tense and rigid, and Sakura can almost make out, under the almost sheer shirt, the muscles shifting as he clenches his fist around the hilt of his weapon.

She looks on as he gets into a fighting stance, albeit there is no one to fight today. She has seen him train before, only a couple of times, but enough to know he starts his training by going through all the kata positions, one by one, patiently. It doesn't quite surprise her that now all he does is move his sword against the tree bark and the light breeze from the trees around them, wielding a certain kind of vexation, anger, toward something she knows too well and maybe shouldn't.

The graceful movements she has known him to sort to are gone, replaced now by an uncomfortable set of jerks from his hands, the movements carrying something heavy with them.

She's walking toward him before she can make up her mind about the rash decision.

This Sasuke, the man standing a few feet behind her, is not the Sasuke she knows. His arm moves with frustation—almost desperation—against the trees, small pants coming out of him in rough and inconsistent patterns.

It's not too long before he rids himself of his haori, the thin fabric pooling at his waist, held up by the sash. As Sakura approaches him in slow strides, she takes notice of the thin layer of sweat adorning his back, the defined muscles of his shoulder blades moving along his quick hand movements.

This Sasuke is bold, quick, angry. Angry at himself and angry at the world, even, and Sakura hates it; hates it as much as she hates how he ignores her presence, or the way he doesn't look at her anymore, or the way she almost misses seeing his unusually spiked hair lurking in the shadows around her nowadays.

The moment she touches his forearm from behind, she's greeted with a cold rush of air hitting her cheeks. The first thing she feels is something sharp and cold resting on the side of her neck, and the first thing she sees are his eyes: dark and guarded and full of the many emotions she hates seeing on him.

This rage is something she's beginning to despise, much to the pleading screams of her brain to stop, let go, and walk away before it's too late.

She loses her fight the moment she sees the surprise flash across his beautiful gaze, his long eyelashes fluttering in a moment of vulnerability.

She stands, hands at her sides and eyes hard, looking up at his own with no semblance of backing down or moving an inch away. It's in his power now to move his sword away, and he does so slowly, as if numb to the situation.

Sakura breathes out and suppreses the urge to scratch at the place where his sword had touched, creating a thin cut not deep enough to draw blood.

She shouldn't be confronting him like this, just as she shouldn't be touching him so familiarly. However much her brain is telling her to apologise and turn around, her heart beats loudly against her ears and there's nothing she can do other than hear this constant sound, the emotions coursing through her making her hands shake slightly.

She takes one step closer to him.

He doesn't expect this, and he immediately takes one step back—almost unconsciously, like he's afraid of her sudden and uncharacteristically-displayed courage.

"Sasuke-kun," she murmurs, watching as his jaw locks and his eyes move away from her own—it's a second later that she realises he's pointing in the direction of the castle with his head, his eyes betraying nothing more than the desire for her to leave.

"You should go back," he voices, and the unfamiliar edge to the sound is what makes her narrow her eyes at him, lips pursed and unhappy.

"No."

Sasuke looks at her again, his subdued rage coming forth once again, bubbling up in his chest at her clear and unmistakable answer. The sword hangs loose from his grip, yet he never puts it away.

"No?"

He regains his step then, moving slowly toward her small body, never moving his eyes away from her bottom-sea green.

"What is it this time?" He asks, finally stopping a few inches away from her and looking down menacingly.

Sakura has never seen him look at her like this, and maybe that's why she answers not a heartbeat later, confidence pooling in her throat and coming out from the dephs of her core.

"I was only walking around. If this place exists only for your eyes, that was never in me to know."

"You have been looking at me for the past few minutes, not walking," he says, his bare chest moving up and down with the quiet intakes of breath he's taking, after he finally recuperates from the interrupted training session—a motion she has no time to look upon. "What is it?"

She had been walking around the forest for reasons she doesn't even begin to comprehend. Maybe she had wanted to see him after all. Maybe, just maybe, she had been hoping to see him show up; been hoping to confront him about what plagues her mind day and night. Maybe it's the way he has been so distant lately that led her into the forest, the same one where he had told her she couldn't go see her mother a few weeks ago, looking for some answers. But her husband is here now, standing a few inches away from her, flesh and bone and real.

She lets out the words before she can retract them. It's too late for either of them, she misses him and she misses them—or what little they had, really—and she wants this issue about his brother resolved and done with.

"I overheard your conversation with your advisor a week ago," she watches him closely for any reaction with fire in her veins despite the little waver in her voice. "My father died in the same battle as Uchiha Itachi; some might say he even protected him until his last breath."

If they weren't standing so close, she would have missed the way his grip tightens on the katana.

"Haruno Kizashi was his name, though you probably don't remember, but many came by my house describing his heroic death; the way he defended your brother until he could not anymore," she adds. "Therefore, I believe any chances of him being alive are slim."

"Slim, but not impossible."

The prompt response makes her take a small step back, mouth agape until she processes his words.

"But very unlikely," she retorts, taking a deep breath through her pert nose. "I am merely trying to understand. You are a leader to this country, a force to be reckoned with, someone who is well respected amongst his people. Tell me, did the gathering of Daimyō a few days ago not do this for you? Why spend your time on this matter?"

Sakura's breath hitches in her throat when Sasuke deepens his frown, looking down at her with a certain kind of restraint, like he wants to tell her something but holds it back. She can see a twitch on his left temple forming, probably product of his teeth grinding together.

Sakura has never spent this much time and effort talking to him. Then again, she's never imagined it would go like this, with Sasuke fuming and ready to pounce and destroy her, and with Sakura trying to push him to his limits if only to get some more answers.

She contemplates placing one of her hands on his chest to calm him down, but decides against it quickly; she has seen what touching him unexpectedly does to him. So she only looks, heart racing against her ribcage and hands at her sides, waiting. It would seem counterproductive to save her life only to harm her now, so she doesn't really fear him, yet his dark presence is still intimidating, no matter how much she wants him to ooze something other than pine trees and fire and anger and masculinity and–

"When your mother visited," he starts, his calm voice contrasting with the sour look on his face and taking her aback, "I conducted a meeting with all Daimyō and put them under my command—where they belong—if they so accepted my rules," he breathes out.

An image crosses her mind without being able to control its appearance, mouth reeking of alcohol breathing into her lips, a filthy hand on her hip caressing her through the layers of clothes. A push, a shove, her body falling to the ground unceremoniously by Sasuke's feet.

It's Sakura's turn to frown, her teeth grinding down on her bottom lip in worry for a moment, and she has trouble asking the question. She looks away and down at her feet, worrying her hands together in front of her stomach.

"Did he... Did he-"

"He opposed to my rule," Sasuke answers, as if knowing her question before she's even asked. "Nakamura Nogi is no more."

At his admission, Sakura's brows lift from the previous frown and her head snaps up, and an emotion he weirdly recognises is dancing across her eyes: relief.

He swallows all the words he wants to say, and shakes his head once and once only, looking at her mop of unusually rose gold hair—as she's looking down toward his chest in wonder—in the midst of the forest's faint glow.

"Whether my brother lives or not is my business," he says, interrupting the million thoughts of how exactly Nakamura Nogi had perished under Sasuke's command. She looks up at him again and scrambles for words, though she knows the cause is lost to her.

"There is no need to dwell on this any further, so you shouldn't be-"

"Do not tell me what I should and should not feel, Sakura," he says, stepping away from her and moving toward another section of the forest, probably to train without her presence near him, questioning him, pressuring him to answer. "Remember your place."

Sakura's left looking at his retreating back, wondering how everything had spiraled out of her control the moment he first opened his mouth.

.

.

.

She's lying down with her stomach to the soft mattress, half of her face hidden by the pillow under her head.

Sakura opens her eyes one day after her argument with Sasuke, and she represses the gasp she wants to let out at the figure next to her.

Her eyes widen a fraction more when she blinks several times, ridding herself of the blurry images of the morning, and sees her husband facing her, looking at her, thin lips set in a straight line.

She has the urge to jump away from the strange occurrence and run from the room, but another side of her convinces her to stay, to look at him like he's looking at her, only a small space in between them.

She stays, her body relaxing against the mattress once again when she realises he's not going anywhere. He has one arm under his head in order to face her comfortably, and she has the distant, bizarre want to reach out and move the few strands of hair covering his left eye.

She sighs instead, exhausted from the long night of dreams too vivid and too deep for her liking, and talks against the pillow under half of her face.

"Tell me about him," she whispers, careful so as to avoid startling him—lest she's the one who makes him jump and run away, which is not why she decides to speak in the first place.

The previous day flashes behind her eyelids for a moment when she closes them, and she purses her lips at the approach she had taken. Then again, he had appeared out of nowhere, and she hadn't even been remotely ready to face him at that time. So she'd lashed out, controlled by her pent-up feelings, and destroyed whatever civil conversation she could've had with him in the process.

"It was wrong of me to speak to you that way, and I apologise," she whispers again, and opens her eyes to look into his own when he does nothing but blink at her gentle, unexpected words. "Tell me about him," she repeats. "Is there proof?"

Is there proof he's still possibly alive?

The rest of the question hangs in the air as he frowns, looking away from her eyes to follow the gentle curve of her shoulders under the thin covers. He's not looking so much as he is thinking about her words, but the lost, lingering gaze has its effect on her after a few seconds.

Her body squirms at his undivided attention, turning from facing down to facing him, on her side, the white covers pulled up until they reach her chin.

A moment of silence passes between them, extending itself until she finds herself speaking once more.

"You can trust me, Sasuke-kun," she says, voice small and hesitant; true, in all the meaning of the word, nonetheless. "I already owed you my life before you saved it, so you can imagine how, when I say you can trust me now, it is because I mean it."

Although the sound is rough from disuse and low from the deafening silence in the room, he finds it in himself to speak.

"I went with one of the search parties when no one could find the body, but it was useless."

She knows this fact from his conversation with Shikamaru, though, so she just reiterates with another question.

"Is that all? My father's body was retrieved, but it had been severely burnt," she swallows, closing her eyes for the briefest moment, remembering how her mother had had to look at her father's almost unrecognisable face to confirm his identity after the battle. "Maybe..."

Maybe your brother burnt to the ground, too.

He hears her thoughts as if she'd said them out loud. It doesn't quite anger him as much as he thought it would—but he's just woken up, his body seems restless, and his eyes sting from the lack of sleep. He'd tried to sleep on their bed for the first time in days, only to receive nightmare after nightmare; his parents, his parent's parents, their brothers and sisters, all of them dead at his feet. The Uchiha clan, once big and victorious and powerful, slaughtered as he watches.

He shakes the thoughts away and focuses his vision once again on his wife, innocent and frail, yet so irrevocably peculiar and obnoxious.

Her sea-green eyes seem distracted and still sleep-rimmed, roaming over his facial features, and letting her gaze stay a little too long on the soft slope of his thin lips, before she ends her trek in his eyes.

They meet, and he sits up on the bed slowly.

"Maybe," he murmurs more to himself than to her, and gets up from the bed.

Sakura watches as he moves to take his morning bath, knowing full well that he's not going to let this go, and feeling helpless about it.

.

.

.

She's sleeping on her back two days later when she hears a groan by her head.

The sound wakes her immediately, and she turns her head slightly to the side, frowning at the image of her husband sleeping peacefully.

But then she blinks twice, and she notices the sweat pooling on his forehead and falling to the back of his ears, the dim light from the moon illuminating enough in the room for her to notice.

He lies on his back, eyes closed tightly as if in pain and hands in fists, and Sakura's moving closer before she can think twice, give him her back, and fall asleep again.

She can't ignore that he's suffering in silence, and her resolve to move closer only strenghthens when he lets out another groan, pain ripping out of his throat as clear as the night sky.

"Sasuke-kun," she whispers, reaching his side and pulling him closer.

She puts one arm under his head and over his rigid shoulders, and the other over his chest, her palm resting on his tense arm. She's embracing him, her mind racing at incredible speeds at what she's actually doing. She's embracing him, Uchiha Sasuke, Shogun of Fire and only second to the Emperor, but otherwise supreme ruler of this country.

Ever since his nightmares, ever since they had married, she's occasionally tried to comfort him through the rough nights by running a hand through his silky locks. But those had just been innocent touches, not much more than that. Not like this, how she has him now, the warmth from his bare chest seeping through her thin nightgown and making her blush against the circumstances.

She expects him to move away from her touch, not lean into her embrace like he's doing now. He turns his body toward her in his sleep, subconsciously seeking her warmth, placing a hand on the small of her waist—clutching the silk, his short nails digging onto her skin and making her hiss in discomfort—and resting his head in the small valley of her breasts.

She lets a few second pass by, wondering if he will wake up and move away, or open his mouth and tell her to move away, and she is met with the answer not too long after. As soon as Sakura starts coursing her fingers through his hair, she feels something tickling her chest, and it's a moment later that she realises it's not the covers or the pillow or her hair, but Sasuke's eyelashes fluttering open. His breath stills and, where it had been coming out in pained short gasps a few seconds before, it ceases altogether now.

Sakura tries to remain calm, her arms remaining still against him, feigning to not notice that he's woken up even though he probably knows she's well aware.

Somehow, in the time she takes to calm down and focus on resuming the slow movement of her fingers along his scalp, he loosens his bruising grip on her waist. Somehow, in the time she takes to focus on anything but the fact that he might push her away any minute now, he briefly lets go of her nightgown, only to run his hand from her bare thigh back up to the gentle curve of her hips, riding up her nightgown with the motion.

Sakura's eyes widen, and her hand stops caressing his hair the moment she feels his hand moving further up, ending at the small of her waist once again. His fingers are warm and hesitant, drawing circles on her sensitive skin, the touches making her bite her lower lip in confusion and something she doesn't quite identify yet.

She doesn't know where this is coming from. Maybe it's the fact that he's just woken up from a nightmare, only to be met with a warm body instead of the usual, stone-cold darkness. Maybe it's the fact that she started it all, making the unusual decision of bringing him close to her body in the first place—though not in a sexual manner, she had done it, and the rough pad of his thumb moving in circles around where her hip and waist blend only makes her sigh slowly.

He takes the sound as an incentive to keep going, and moves his hand under the band of her underwear, slightly pulling it up and achieving a certain amount of friction between her legs to build up, one that she doubts he even knows he's making. And it feels right, it feels like it's what's meant to happen because, the moment his lips touch the skin of her neck, she's moving her hand from his hair to his broad back, nevermind the thin drops of sweat she finds along the way.

She wants to feel him against her, moving like she has been told he would, making her feel things she can only imagine from the books she has read. She wants to flush her body to his, run her hands down his chest, reaching every nook and cranny and memorising the way his muscles flex under the soft light of the moonlight from the window on the other side of the room.

She doesn't wait for him to fully wake up from whatever he'd been dreaming about. She doesn't wait for him to let go, get up, and leave.

She's on her side and then she's on her knees, both legs at his sides, sitting on his stomach.

Sasuke's looking at her now from the comfort of their bed, a frown making its way to his features at her strange action, and it takes her a second to know he's genuinely confused. Confused at what she's doing; at what she wants to do; at what she's done.

Sakura remembers her wedding night in the back of her mind, the rough, fast movements he had made inside of her, holding her still the whole way with his hands. She remembers her tears, the cold air caressing her naked body as soon as he had left, and the loneliness she had felt through the rest of the night.

She wouldn't be surprised if, even though he has been married quite a few times before, Sasuke doesn't know how to pleasure a woman correctly. It would explain his hesitant touches, his carelessness during her first time, and the confused stare she's receiving now. The other alternative would be that he does know, but chooses not to indulge in pleasuring a second party, and instead finds pleasure in only himself—but she pushes this idea away as soon as she makes it because, surely, the way his hands twitch at his sides without moving to her body are a sign that this is not true.

However, Sakura has been trained for this, has been taught the art of seduction from her head to her toes, and knows exactly what to do.

So she leans down and kisses him on the cheek, on his neck, and down his chest. It's not that she hasn't been taught to kiss her husband on the lips—it had been encouraged, on the contrary—but that rather seems overly intimate, and something about it makes her mentally shake her head, moving down his stomach, down, down until-

She slides down his loose pants, taking them off him while never taking her eyes away from his own—eye contact is something that had been highlighted in her studies, and she doesn't mind it. She especially doesn't mind it when he's the one to look away for a short heartbeat, but the dimmed light in the room doesn't let her see much more in his eyes until she sits on him again. She doesn't mind it at all.

There is a quiet contemplation in his gaze, a few minutes he takes to only watch her behaviour. This contemplation is cut short the second she moves his underwear down. He grabs her hands in his own, sitting up and startling her momentarily. His head is now close to her, looking into her eyes questioningly, but she only looks back.

"What is it? Do you not want this?" She asks, though the question seems redundant when she knows how much he wants this from her, if only for the clear sign between his legs. Him sitting up has made her fall back a little, and she now sits on his lap where before she'd been on his stomach. She knows he wants this if only for his grip tightening, his sensitive skin brushing against the cloth of her thin underwear with each one of her squirms.

"What are you doing?" He states this more than he asks it, but she understand all the same.

"What does it look like?" She replies, a small smile gracing her lips, reaching his eyes from the narrow distance between their faces. She feels his grip lessen for a moment at the sight, and that's all she needs to push him back down on the mattress, accommodating herself on top of him once again, hands on his chest to support herself. "Let me, Sasuke-kun."

"Sakura-"

Sasuke looks conflicted, torn between pushing her off and leaving the room or pushing her off and getting on top of her, but never entertaining the idea of this—her lithe body on top of his own, touching him like no one has ever, leaning down and leaving a trail of butterfly, hesitant kisses from his jaw to his neck.

"You can trust me," she says, leaving his neck and lifting her gown over her head, exposing her bare body to him without much preamble or much room to discuss. Sasuke's eyes widen momentarily, his stupor only hindered when a certain part of him twitches, a groan threatening to come out from his throat at what little he has left of self-restraint. "Do you?"

Sasuke can only do so much as move his hips up in response, and she can only let out a breathless gasp at the shock that travels from her spine to her neck in short waves, leaving as soon as it had started.

Sakura feels her heart hammering inside her chest despite her confidence. The only things keeping her going are the silent lust in his eyes and the physical reaction she has elicited from him, added to the fact that he has not pushed her away. Otherwise, she would have left the room a long time ago, shame following her out all the way.

As it is, she reaches behind her and grasps his length in her hold, watching as he gives a small jump at the unexpected cold touch. But he welcomes it with a grunt, moves his hands from the mattress to her hips, to the swell of her small breasts, first hesitantly and then more confidently at her every small sound.

And she moves him, moves with him, coaxes them both into a mess of pants and grunts. She slides him into her over and over only when she knows she's ready and only when she knows it won't hurt, not like the last time, and watches as he loses himself throughout the night. There is an instant as she's moving her hips slowly, getting tired of lifting herself up and down continuously, when stills her motions and flips them, taking it upon himself to pound into her with uninhibited abandon.

She doesn't quite reach her peak, but she hadn't been expecting that in the first place, not this time, not their first time. She tries to erase previous memories; tries to forge these new ones in her brain, imprint them where once were tears and shaken hearts. This is their first time together, like this, intimately connected in every sense of the word.

She doesn't reach her peak, but she doesn't really give it much thought when he collapses on top of her in a heap of limbs and spent muscles, and she finds herself pressed so perfectly against him, every part of her covered by his warm skin in all the right places.

She runs her fingers down his chest, through his wet hair, and over his heated cheeks when he rolls off and lies on his back.

He lets her.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the wonderful reviews! You guys make me smile amidst all these exams and homework from my summer classes.
> 
> P.S. When I say that Sasuke's wives left him, I mean that they figuratively left by passing away, though I'm not telling you how yet :P

Sasuke is woken up by something other than blood and screams. His mind is blank when he opens his eyes slowly, the early light filtering through the only window in the room making him close them for a second. He has overslept; it would be a wonder to him if his men aren't worried sick for his wellbeing by now.

He snaps his eyes open at the thought, and the first thing he sees is pink. Pink under him, over him, and all around him. Sakura is still embracing him, somehow, and he notices this through pieces in his still-fogged up brain. Sleepy eyes trace over a naked shoulder and a bare back, and over the curve beneath the bedsheets that cover the rest of her soft form.

He takes a moment, short and sweet, admiring the feeling of her bare front pressed against his side, her head on his chest, and her arm on his own. He takes a moment, long and bitter, looking at the ceiling and wondering the time and place when he had last slept quite this peacefully, but comes up short.

He waits a few seconds more before he gets up.

.

.

.

"I have been notified by several sources of a disturbance at the border," Shikamaru speaks, his voice reverberating against the paper walls around them. He sits cross-legged across from his superior, a low table in between them.

"Of Fire?"

"No. Konoha's border, and it wouldn't be much of a problem if our population was not already over the limit." Shikamaru sighs and crosses his arms over his chest, looking at the floor in deep thought, mulling over his words. "It seems that many a person want to be close to you; you seem to be quite notorious around Fire."

"Hm," he hums, absentmindedly moving his pencil across the surface of an important document he has yet to sign.

"Then again, past the border of Konoha lies a territory of forest only—a fortress, even, that separates the village from every other in the nation," he keeps on explaining, and Sasuke keeps on drawing nonsense circles on paper. "I am not surprised that anyone would want to trespass, what with you here and the largest army of Samurai known to mankind."

When Shikamaru looks up from the floor and toward his leader, he manages a sporadic frown to appear between his brows. Unexpectedly, Sasuke is looking down at a few stacks of paper while he moves his hand back and forth in a lazy manner. It holds no consistency, really, and he takes pleasure in watching as his direct leader draws asymmetrical figures on top of a page that seems rather void of any signatures or important stamps.

But a second later his frown leaves altogether, and it's replaced by a small, amused smirk that makes its slow way onto his scarred face. He looks on as Sasuke absentmindedly hums again, gaze lost somewhere in the desk and hand moving mechanically against the document on the table.

Sasuke is not someone who gets lost in thought while conducting a meeting, even if it is a regular, weekly meeting like this where he only gets the usually mundane updates of the week. He always pays attention to every detail, takes notes, and devises a plan for the upcoming week, carefully and attentively. At the moment, Sasuke seems anything but attentive to Shikamaru's updates.

If he's anything of the genius he's been called throughout his life, he'd say his leader is thinking of something much bigger than a few infiltrators in Konoha. If he can't be bothered enough to pay attention to his updates, which, from the intense look he's bestowing upon that paper, it must mean his thoughts are centered on personal matters.

And the list of people who Sasuke is relatively close to, regardless of whether it is through election or choice, could fit in the smallest of spaces. He could count those people on one hand without really having to use all five fingers. This makes his guessing game seem all the less interesting; it's not fun to guess at something that looks so blatantly obvious.

Shikamaru looks toward the table, careful to notice any changes in his body when he speaks, breaking the silence that has been stretching on for minutes on end—minutes that his leader seems to not notice.

"I saw your wife as I was walking here. If I may say so, she seems lovelier everyday," he says, but receives no response from his leader. He clears his throat. "Sakura, I mean."

At the name, he watches as Sasuke's hand stops moving, and he blinks one and two times in silence. Shikamaru watches as he lifts his head to regard him quietly, dropping the pencil on the desk none too gently after he realises he's missed most of what Shikamaru has said about his wife.

"What?"

The hazel-eyed man shakes his head, wanting to snort but deciding against it at the sour and confused look on Sasuke's face. He decides on starting his updates again, from the top, looking into his eyes so as to make sure he's listening this time. His dark eyes, though, shift from his own to a point past his shoulder once Shikamaru starts talking again. They get lost somewhere over his shoulder, and Shikamaru stops his newfound informational rambling after he notices this, murmuring something about this job being too much of a hassle under his breath.

"Sasuke, are you listening to me?"

His eyes snap toward the patient man again, though his head remains unmoving, hands joined over the table inside his study, elbows resting on the wood.

Shikamaru, genius since birth in the prestigious Nara clan, the Shogun's right hand and strategies expert, stands slowly and walks from the other side of the desk toward the small window to Sasuke's left.

He watches as his features are relaxed but marked with worry, his hands are in the pockets of his loose trousers, and his stance is that of a tired man.

He's not sure what is wrong with him at the moment, but there's one thing that he's sure about: he's not in his right mind tonight. And so he sighs, looking as Shikamaru rubs a hand against his face in exhaustion. It wouldn't do to continue this meeting, not with a troubled mind and jumbled thoughts inside his head.

"Shikamaru, you are dismissed," he says, looking over to the man only to look away the moment their eyes meet; one pair confused, the other resigned.

"Dismissed? I haven't finished telling you about the river. There have been sights of people trying to cross over and into Konoha by-"

"Ah," he waves his hand dismissively, earning another confused look from the older man. "I have heard, too. I will take care of that as soon as possible."

"But, sir-"

"Go home, Shikamaru. I am sure you miss your wife and son. It is yet to be dark, yet it has been a peaceful day," he explains, leaning back on his chair when the man just stares from the window to the village behind the tall stone walls surrounding the castle.

He knows he's hit the right target. The man might be lazy and too smart for his own good, but he also loves his small family more than anything else—more than this job and more than this country, even, something that Sasuke can never—and will never—afford.

He doesn't need to convince him any more than that, as expected, for Shikamaru bows curtly and leaves, the door sliding close behind him and making a small sound that echoes around the quiet room. He releases the breath he's been holding.

Sasuke runs a hand through his unkempt hair, now reaching past his shoulders, and runs both hands down his face. He closes his eyes for a moment in the new solitude of his quiet office, and opens them only to look at the array of soft colours filtering through the window. In warm colours, they reach the walls of his office, gently touching the ends of his hair and past them.

He drops his hands on the desk, suddenly feeling way older than only thirty, taking everything in and noticing a few specks of pink here and there almost blending with the purple and the yellow and orange.

He grunts, the sound is guttural and low, and he would have missed it were it anyone else who'd done it. As it is, he only grunts once more when there is no one near him who will ever hear, turning his face away from the pretty colours of the dying sun, too vivid and too bright and too warm.

He had heard Shikamaru, but he hadn't necessarily been listening to the words. A few things here and there had reached his ears in passing: bandits disguising themselves and crossing the river that runs along part of the border between Konoha and other smaller villages, a certain restlessness in his army at the continued peace across the nation, an increase in Wind traders at the Northern villages of Fire. Nothing that would be too devastating if he hadn't heard at all, but important to the bigger picture anyway.

He should go with a small team to check the bandits at the river; this would be like killing two birds with one stone, for it would solve the boredom of his army and the troubles at the border, though the information on the traders could wait a bit longer.

It would be too late to send a team of soldiers to the border now, when most of them are probably at home sharing a meal or two with their families. He should probably send a notice first thing in the morning, detailing that the mission to go to the border would take place tomorrow night. He should probably just ask his army to meet him at the castle first thing in the morning, for the notice could take longer by a messenger. Or he should probably just call them now. They were warriors. They had lived far worse, it doesn't matter if they haven't been notified before, they would just get ready and do what they have to do. Or maybe that wasn't the best option. Maybe he should just-

He can't think.

Sasuke stands, strides over to the window, and pulls the long curtains together. The light doesn't filter through the dark, thick material, and Sasuke is grateful for that.

He takes a second longer than he should have, just holding the soft and delicate curtains close together, thinking about something far softer between his fingers, far more delicate. He lets go at last.

In darkness, with nothing else to have as a distraction, he sits at his desk once again and starts to work.

.

.

.

Sakura walks across the gardens along a path made of sand, stepped on and mediocre; almost hidden from view.

She walks behind the healer, a man she had thought to be old and wrinkly, but is in fact around her husband's age. His grey hair is probably premature and early, and his lack of wrinkles and the lightness in his step as he walks ahead of her is proof of his true age.

She keeps up with him.

They walk along the gardens on the Southwestern side of the castle, passing through a great array of flowers and vegetables, moving through gardens she has never seen before. At the end, right before the edge of the castle's stone barrier, lies a small cottage. It's made of wood, the size of Sakura's bedroom, and with two cherry blossom trees on either side.

Sakura's breath hitches in her throat as they near the small house, almost tripping over a rock at her distracted gaze, looking over every detail this cabin offers her.

It's such a small thing; so tiny and cozy that Sakura has a hard time believing this is where the middle-aged man sleeps and eats and showers. How can someone depend on themselves so much in this remote part of the castle? He almost lives outside of the border, even. His way of living escapes her, and she makes a mental note to ask him as soon as she can.

They reach the small, wooden house, only a few feet taller than her, but barely tall enough for the healer in front of her. He opens the door by pulling it toward him—not by sliding it open, as Sakura had expected—and ducks his head slightly at the threshold's shorter height, passing it and letting her pass after himself.

She looks inside while he closes the peculiar door behind her. The room is more spacious than she thought it could possibly be, with wooden walls and several plants here and there hanging from the ceiling. Upon more scrutiny, she sees there are plants everywhere, some she recognises right away and some others that seem ambiguous. Some are on two long working tables, others are hanging from the ceiling, and others are on the floor.

There are two working benches at either side of the room with plants and rulers and flasks scattered on top, two mediocre, dull chairs at each long desk, and two doors at the end of the main room which she assumes to be the bedroom and bathroom, however small. She can't see the kitchen from here, if there even is one to start with.

The man slowly circles her from the door to her front, standing a reasonable three feet away from her. His hand, after noticing she's too entertained in looking around his humble abode, nonchalantly reaches into his pocket and takes out an object she has never seen before. Her eyes snap toward him and this item with two circles and a line that connect them together, with two other at the sides. When the healer places it on top of his nose and it does not fall, Sakura frowns.

"If I may, I notice you are quite smitten with my spectacles," he says, speaking for the first time without her permission. She's taken aback for only a second, because then he speaks again with a small smile morphing his thin lips. "They help me see clearer, my lady."

"Is that so?" She asks, frowning further when the man doesn't answer. "Wherever you acquired them? Surely they are not from this land."

"No, they are not," he doesn't look at her out of respect, but he speaks with an authority that shouldn't be there. "Though these have been given to several Daimyō across Fire already, they have not reached ears of the Emperor or my lord, the Shogun."

She wants to grab these spectacles and inspect them for herself, seeing for herself if they could make her see clearer too, however more than she already does.

But when she takes a step forward and feels her foot cave in the floor, she gasps, looking down and finding nothing but a thick brown carpet, one which covers the entirety of the room. She can't see anything resembling wood or tatami like she's used to, but only something akin to a rug.

She frowns, looking down at her feet and up at his silhouette now in the back of the room, adjusting the long curtains to the side of the windows so as to let all the light in.

"Kabuto, right?" She asks, noticing how he tenses up for a second before he relaxes again, stepping away from the window and moving toward her again with a small smile.

"That is correct. From the Yakushi clan."

He says this with a proud-like twinkle in his eyes, but Sakura has no idea who he is or where he comes from. Though she was raised with knowledge from the most important clans in the nation, Kabuto's clan doesn't ring a bell in her brain. She only clears her throat and takes another step forward, making a face when she feels her foot dip in again.

"Why do you keep a rug for a floor?" She asks only because she can't help herself. Her steps are hesitant and light over the brown plush, and she notices his smile getting larger by the minute, probably amused by her strange questions.

"Working here for hours can be quite exhausting. This prevents my feet from hurting, you see."

She nods and regards the place with her gaze once more, feeling his eyes on her.

"I see," she says. "You can start now, Yakushi."

He nods once, bows, and moves toward one of the long tables, grabbing a flask here and a flask there while standing, and motioning her to the stool next to him.

"You may take a seat, if you would like."

Sakura does so without a word, not trusting the man entirely even if he has been trusted by her husband and many before him. It's her first interaction with him, after all, and she doesn't want to trust him fully at first glance.

He places a book in front of her and opens it in the stark middle, making sure she sees all the dry, preserved leaves and stems and flowers.

Sakura stares.

"This is my book of plants. Every plant that I have encountered in my life is here, compressed and kept as if it's still alive. For years, this has been my atlas; what I use to guide myself through healing. Notice I have written facts about these plants along the margins."

Sakura flips through the thick book, careful not to move the pages too roughly.

"You may use this at any time during your training."

She looks at him. "Training?"

He looks taken aback, but smiles a moment later. "Yes. Is this not why you wanted to see me? I know you are interested in the herbs; I have seen you in my gardens."

Sakura takes a deep breath and releases it, looking back at the open book in front of her, and traces a white flower through the soft material that encases it.

Training would do her well. Training can entertain her from the most boring of days at the castle, it can put her knowledge to work, and it can make her feel less useless and powerless trapped inside these walls. It can most certainly move her thoughts away from a certain someone, someone who has been plaguing her mind for two whole days. Closing her eyes for a moment, she supresses the urge to physically shake her head to figuratively shake her thoughts away. His dark eyes still stare at her from under her, his quiet heartbeat still beats under her ear, his rough hands still trace over her hips in the morning, her hands still trace over his chest after.

"What would this training entail?" She asks, opening her eyes slowly.

After a few seconds of silence, Kabuto answers, his velvet voice reaching her ears all too soon.

"I can teach you what you want to know about every plant, including poisons—how to make them and how to fight them. Plants are not the only matter I'm knowledgeable about, my lady. The human body fascinates me just as much."

Sakura thinks it over for a few seconds, but her mind had been made up the moment he mentioned poisons. She nods and jumps a little when he swiftly closes the book in her face, placing it high on a shelf on the other side of the room.

"Shall we start?"

.

.

.

She tries to learn under the tutelage of Kabuto for only one day before she decides this has to stop. This constant worrying and incessant overthinking that has taken root inside her being has to stop. It's one thing to share one's body with someone, and it's another to share one's body and everything else in the act, only to avoid her like the plague.

She remembers the morning after clearly, how he had stood up after a few lingering touches, dressed and left the room without much of a parting word—not that he ever did, anyway. Sasuke has always had a tendency to be distant with her, but his genuine behaviour doesn't hold a candle to how he's treating her now. They are husband and wife, and they have been this for a little over three years, so there should be no reason why she hasn't seen him in the time that's passed since the night they shared.

So she visits him at his office and, surprisingly, he lets her in. It's only a second later that she learns this is because he doesn't even look up to welcome the newcomer, probably thinking it to be one of his advisors instead of his wife.

She knocks and she's granted passage, and as soon as the door slides open by her hand, she looks at his desinterested face staring at a board in front of him. He's sitting on the floor, legs parted and knees bent, and she blinks several times at his relaxed and uncaring appearance. In the three days she hasn't seen him, she has thought about this moment, over and over playing in her mind in many different ways, but now she's at a loss of words.

His eyes snap up at her lingering but otherwise silent presence and she can almost make out his flinch, obviously not expecting his wife to knock on the door of his office, a place where he has been hiding in for the last few days, piles of papers stacked on the desk behind him that are yet to be signed and revised.

She can sense his unease at her appearance, so much so that she can see the uncomfortable way his eyes shift from her own and down her body slowly before he looks away, brows furrowed together and lips tugged down as if in pain.

She regards him with a quiet type of outward semblance, though her blood is rushing inside her at incredible speeds. Her heartbeat beats loudly against her chest, and she joins her hands in front of her lap, touching the silk of her small kimono as she lets them rest there. Sasuke is not looking at her.

She wants to stride toward him and embrace him like she did then, but it is not prudent to do so. Showing that kind of weakness would make him snap at her, what during plain day and with his sturdy walls up and protecting him.

It is best if she resorts to talk to him instead. She closes the door behind her and looks at him from the same place, not daring to take a step toward the man. But before she can voice out whatever has been troubling her mind, she notices the Shogi board in front of him, and smiles at the perfect excuse she has found to make him speak about what she wants to hear—and not to only tell her to leave his private office space.

"Would you mind if I play against you?" She asks, and doesn't miss the way his eyebrows lift curiously, locking eyes with her once again. She sees the confusion dancing in the dark, black gaze, so she smiles a bit more and qualms her insides. "Nothing is ever worse with two minds at it."

"Some would disagree."

She takes a step forward, but stops when he focuses his eyes on the movement.

"You would disagree?" She asks, finding her voice after the ice has broken. "No game is fun when you know the outcome. You may know yourself, but you don't know me."

This has him silent. She watches as his head snaps downward toward the old, used table of Shogi, and she sits in front of him when he gives but a simple nod to let her know she can play against him, though she never expected he would.

They sit, her legs tucked under her and his open, relaxed, with one hand on the floor to hold him upright and the other arm hanging from his knee. His window is open, the light breeze from the characteristic clear blue skies moving her long hair as the time goes by—though lightly, as it's in a loose plait.

She speaks if only to break the silence. After all, she has to get him to talk about what he thinks about them, and Sasuke talking about his feelings is not something she has ever seen to its full extent, or something she would ever hope to accomplish. It has been three days, and this is the first time she sees him since. She has given him everything; her mind, her body, her soul, her entire life, devoted to him until the end of her days. And yet, just when she thought they had made progress, he just... disappears.

It would be an understatement to say she feels merely nervous when she speaks.

"I learnt when I was ten, two years before my father passed away," she pauses, and starts talking again after he doesn't respond and opts to move one of his game pieces. "He was the one who taught me."

He hums at her words, watching as she makes her move on the board with a concentrated gaze. He makes his own not two seconds later, and Sakura smiles at his calculated antics, that of a true perfectionist and strategist, quick but careful. She takes her time moving her own piece again, but when he moves his it's in the span of only five seconds, and it makes her frown at the possiblr reason behind his overflowing confidence.

He doesn't think she can win. It's as if, when he let her play against him, he did it only to pacify a stubborn child. Maybe out of pity, maybe out of wanting to be done with this and watch her leave, but she won't have it either way.

"This is almost insulting, you know," she starts, pausing momentarily in order to think her next move correctly.

He lifts his eyes to look at her from across the small space between them, and frowns. "What is?"

"I told you I have been playing this since I was ten years old not two minutes ago, yet you disregard me," she moves her piece, then, and he moves his not a second later, his hand forcing the wooden piece down on the board with more force than necessary. She sees the fault in his mistake and moves her own against it, winning his piece over and capturing it with her hand. His face shows confusion, she smiles at her small victory, and she speaks what she shouldn't without thinking it through.

"Your moves are primitive, dear," she says, watching as he makes a fist with the hand hanging from his bent knee. "Much like in other matters."

There is a certain lightness in her voice that's there to let him know she's not speaking with malice, but only indulging in light conversation, though she tries to hide the biting tone to her words for what she feels inside.

She moves her rook forward, capturing Sasuke's silver general in the process with a small smile gracing her lips at, yet again, her second victory in a row.

When he doesn't make a move against her, she looks at him from under her bangs, noticing the small tick under his eye as he loses his gaze in the board. She knows what is bothering him.

The fact that he catches the second meaning to her words and holds on to them only makes her bite her lip. She had spoken more than what was expected, and she wouldn't be surprised if he throws the board in her face and kicks her out of his office right in that moment; after all, she has just insinuated the man is primitive in bed. Never mind if this is true or not, it is not in her to tell him.

"Did you come here to criticise that, or to play Shogi with me?" He asks, eyes narrowed and jaw locked. Obviously, he does not find it amusing that she's judging the way he beds her, but something in the way he has not snapped at her makes her retaliate. She shouldn't. She really shouldn't, and she knows this as she knows the back of her hand—knows that she must apologise and stay quiet for the duration of the game or until he deems is sufficient time—but her blood keeps rushing and her heart keeps beating, so she talks against all predicaments.

"Can't I do both?" She innocently asks and does nothing but look at Sasuke, who stares at her with something strange in his eyes.

After a moment of tense silence, her husband shifts his eyes from her own amused gaze and down to the board, thinking his next move through and choosing to not listen to her.

"I am merely commenting on the issue at hand," she shrugs, looking away from his passive face and toward the open window on her right. Flowing water from a fountain in the distance fills in the silence while he focuses on the game and ignores her words. She doesn't expect him to answer her, though she only wishes he would just speak to her, and he does so after he moves his rook two spaces to the right, threatening two different pieces of her own for the first time. He does it so meticulously that, the more she considers the options, the less she thinks she can save both pieces at the same time.

"There is no issue, Sakura. Granted, I acknowledge our wedding night was not..." She waits, baited breath caught in her throat at his words, hands tight in fists on her lap. "Pleasant. But there is no issue."

And, just like that, she loses herself in his words. Eyes staring at his nonchalant expression, she restrains herself from reaching over and hit him until he can't breathe. She wants to yell at him that of course it wasn't pleasant, and it hurt, it hurt her and he hurt her and she cried herself into oblivion that night so many days ago. She wants to tell him that it was a tradition, a ritual, that they had to do anyway, but a ritual doesn't justify the roughness in his hands as he had handled her. He should have been more gentle and careful with her and, in any case, more understanding of her situation. She wants to remind him of how much she thinks about that night, about how much it pained her, back then and for weeks on end, when she thought she had no one; when she had laid on the floor and known she would have to spend eternity with someone who didn't care.

Instead, she only swallows all the words she wants to say, and clarifies the situation for him. She moves one of her rooks forward, sacrificing her pawn to Sasuke's rook—the lesser of her two pieces only in rank of importance.

"I see differently, and it is clear as day."

You just can't see it over your self-centred mindset, she wants to add, but refrains from it. Doing so would be to openly, explicitly disrespect her husband, and she would rather perish in flames than do such thing.

"Tell me, then."

"I may be... physically inexperienced compared to you, Sasuke-kun, but my training has been thorough," she says, taking a deep breath and looking over toward the distant fountain so as to avoid his curious eyes, her voice small but confident. "I know that being together has to require input from both parties, not only one. Doing so would hinder one from feeling any pleasure in the act."

She looks at him.

The moment his eyes widen for a split second, she knows that, somehow, she has said the wrong thing. It is clear to her as he frowns and inches slightly forward, eyes searching her own for answers he can only find if he outwardly asks.

"You find no pleasure with me."

It's a statement, not a question, and she realises this a little too late. It isn't that she feels no pleasure with him, but that she could feel more.

"May I ask you something?" At his silence, she bites her lower lip and takes a deep breath through her nose. "Did any of your prior wives talk to you about this, like I'm doing now?"

Sasuke moves a piece of the game, but Sakura barely pays attention anymore. She only sees him against the fog in her mind; only feels her hands shake on her lap as she folds them more than once.

"None had the chance," he breathes.

Her hands stop shaking, and time stops still.

"I have been married to you for three years, and yet, as I have come to learn, so did your first wife," she replies. The words come out of her slowly, as if preparing for the worst, as if getting ready to get up and run away. In the back of her mind, she registers her hand moving one of her pieces forward, but it is lost to her when he speaks again.

His eyes are somewhere else now, looking over the patterns on the floor as if decoding something there. With a frown, she notices his eyes are narrowed and a grimace is running along his features before he sighs.

"Karin never complained."

Karin.

She has heard it before, though she can't place the exact time and place at the moment. Not when he compares her complains to the insinuated acceptance of his first wife.

The name rings off her brain, off the walls of the room where they sit facing each other, looking into each other's eyes. He must be able to see the confusion and surprise in her face, for he breaks the silence after a long minute of her inability to move, much less talk.

"What has passed won't happen again. There is no need to worry."

"What?" She exclaims, snapping out of her thoughts and frowning ever-so-slightly at him.

He doesn't explicitly say it, but she hears the meaning anyway; feels the underlying cold words come out of his lips all the same. And before she can feel hurt at the unspoken, untold truth—or undesirable, even, by the lack of care in his words—he clears his throat and looks toward the Shogi board, mask put on over the hard ridges of his face once again. "That night was a risk I took, one I can't take again."

She audibly gasps, then, staring at him unabashedly from where she's sitting, and he clarifies further.

"You should know children are not part of my plans," he murmurs, not looking at her. "Not yet."

His words are clear in her mind, and she wants to laugh at how she has missed what has been in front of her this whole time. He doesn't want children, which would explain his distance with her, his lack of response throughout the course of their marriage, and his attempts at never letting his eyes stray too long on her body. He always finds a way to look away, to shy away from her, to not speak to her more than a few words, to refrain from touching her in any way or form.

The reasoning behind his charcoal eyes is something she has yet to reach.

After all, Sasuke's clan only consists of one blood member now—though the man still believes his brother may be alive, somewhere in this world—and Sakura stills her preocupations for a moment after she realises he shouldn't have any problems with having children. Every day under the title of Shogun, her husband risks being murdered, overthrown, by someone else; and someone with that much power surely must be aware of this. The clan could lay forgotten after his demise with no possible heir to the position.

He should be welcoming the thought of a child from his own blood, instead of discouraging it; he should.

She doesn't understand why he would hinder the likelihood of this happening, and he sees right through her, but stays quiet while he watches each emotion play out on her face like an open book.

She wants to demand more answers from him, but her fight leaves her quickly, just like it had come to her in the first place. She shakes her head to herself, focusing on the game in between them so as to not dwell too much on his unusual, disconcerting answer.

Half an hour later, she leaves the room after a curt bow, though it is brief and tired.

Sasuke looks after her when she stands and leaves, a frown marring his features as his hand tightens the hold on his captured King. Somehow, she beats him at a strategical, military game.

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Sakura visits Kabuto more often after her meeting with Sasuke. Sometimes she has one or two hours to spare, but most often than not she spends her entire day working under his knowledge. She visits so often that it's a wonder how she doesn't live in his hut yet, what with all the hours she spends there. If he feels against it, he never voices it, just like she never notices if her daily visits ever make him uncomfortable.

Without her medicinal books to keep her busy, she mostly has her garden to look forward to. With this training, as he so calls it, now she also has an addition to her otherwise-boring schedule.

Sasuke spends his days holed up in his study doing what Sakura doesn't have the energy to find out about, and the nights are spent with her eyes looking at his broad, distant back. She doesn't really count on him to fill her schedule nowadays.

At least, not with the biting words he had told her on a warm, peaceful day, or the cold of his eyes as he refused her body indefinitely.

So she trains, spends her days with a man that is not her husband, and learns whatever he has to offer from years and years on end of learning on his own.

By the end of autumn, Sakura knows how to identify any poisonous plant known to the nation of Fire, how to make antidotes for most, and how to recognise the symptoms in someone who is affected—though she only uses rats for those. She is fascinated by what she has only been able to read about before. The more she spends away from her husband, the less she thinks of him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Catch me with them references to canon ;)

Sakura receives a letter during the early stages of winter. She recognises the familiar slopes and curves of the characters outside before she has the chance to open it.

And as soon as she turns the lid and unfolds the yellowed papers inside, she's not surprised that the owner is, as suspected, none other than her mother—especially since she had recognised the familiar handwritting beforehand—but there is a certain kind of bitterness that comes along as she reads the first sentence. Sakura can't figure out why it has taken her so long to write to her daughter. All summer had been spent with no mail from her remaining blood relative and, even though she feels somewhat neglected and forgotten, she doesn't hide her smile when she starts reading through something she has so dearly missed—or someone, as the case may be.

Her smile tampers on the sides slightly as the seconds pass, and it's on the second page that Sakura pauses and takes a moment to read over the words again and again, making sure she's in fact reading correctly, not missing an inch of ink from her mother's delicate strokes.

It held no candle to your own, but the wedding was sufficiently adequate. I only wish you had been there to share it with me.

She feels her hands tremble as she holds the letter for only a mere second of vulnerability, but then she's back again in her room, alone and with a wrinkled letter in her hands, on top of a bed that is far too big for only two people who don't ever touch.

She finishes reading only because she has already started, but not because she necessarily wants to, and so she doesn't really register the last parting words. Mechanically moving to the small desk on the far end of the room, she grabs a blank paper and starts writing with fresh ink, using one of her husband's most treasured brushes as steadily as she can.

Dear beloved mother, I so wish you are as well as you say, for this will hurt less if it is so.

She doesn't like what she's putting on paper, but it's what needs to be done. The only reason her mother hasn't been writing to her is because of the wedding and its preparations; her mother is probably plenty busy nowadays, more so than herself, at least. Sakura's husband has plenty of riches and status, and she lives inside a castle bigger than any other building in Konoha, yet her mother's contract with Sasuke will end soon, has just married, and seems happier than she can last remember.

She can't help her anymore. She isn't there to help her take the trash out, do the dishes, or clean around the house. She doesn't have the means to transfer more funds to her household, nor is she going to ask Sasuke for them—more so after his crude confession from long ago. Most importantly, she isn't going to bear Sasuke a son any time soon, as stated by the man himself, something that her mother has been looking forward to for the longest time, if not reiterated during her first and last visit to the castle. Sakura's slowly failing as a daughter, and there's nothing she can do about it.

The more words she puts on paper, the more she distances herself from her mother—the only person who she has had the priviledge of communicating with outside the castle's walls. Though cutting communication wouldn't be the most prudent of decisions, she knows it's for the best. Her mother is well, as she has expressed in the letter several times, and that is all that matters.

Ever since she got married to Sasuke, her mother used to write her bland, boring letters that merely asked for her wellbeing and let her know a thing or two about the village. But this letter is different. Sakura can feel the unexpected happiness her mother has found with her father's brother, and so it's only in her best interest if she doesn't write to her as much, if only to not disturb her with her silly preocupations and broken marriage. Out of shame and out of resignation, she sends the letter with one of Sasuke's lesser advisors.

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She sees the white, nameless cat once again one snowy day. It's as she enters Kabuto's home with a basket full of herbs in hand, and the sight of it laying on the windowsill only makes her stop in her tracks abruptly.

He lifts his head toward her listlessly and with grace, nonchalantly laying his head down again so as to keep on sleeping during the last of the morning. Sakura closes the door behind her a second later, the soft sound not startling him in the slightest.

Taking the steps necessary to reach the work bench on the right—across from the slumbering feline she hadn't seen for months—she sits on the stool and sets her small basket on the surface of the desk. It's full of herbs she had taken from the different gardens of the castle, spending more than one hour so as to restock everything in Kabuto's little house—due to the fact that she had used most plants while learning about them, it's only logical that she takes the time to repay him for wasting his plants by looking for new ones herself.

At least, she had looked for every plant available to the castle's grounds only. There just wasn't a way for her to go outside and into Konoha's forests in search of the remaining, limited stock of more exotic herbs. She would just have to tell him later about the critical leftover amounts of these outside plants that only he could possibly fetch.

With a sigh, she starts taking out every herb carefully. She snips off the ends of every stem, takes out the leaves when necessary, and dries the plants completely, placing them by family and name inside different small jars. She does this for a few minutes, focusing on the light, cold breeze that comes in and out of the open windows and the light chirping of birds. The several layers of her usual dresses come in handy during the slightly cold days.

Kabuto comes in right when she stands up to go eat lunch. He opens the door, notices her perplexed face, and chuckles to himself.

"Kabuto, good morning," she bows, only because he has taught her for months now and has been nothing but kind to her, but not because he's her superior in any way or form. Following orders and teaching her is one thing, and showing genuine kindness is another. He returns the bow with one of his own, lasting longer than hers, as expected.

"Lady Uchiha, it is well past morning."

With a small smile, Sakura opens her mouth to say something, but then a sound reaches her ears and they both look toward it; toward him, stretching and looking at the healer like he's been expecting him. The white, thin and small cat walks over to Kabuto, leaving no indentations on any of the surfaces he treks upon, mostly due to the loss in weight. Sakura frowns at the creature, and more so when the man next to her bends down and picks him up, petting him behind the ears and on the sides of his neck.

She's at a loss of words, and takes a step back.

"You know this cat?" She asks, and the question sounds so random and inconsequential that he emits a dry laugh as she watches him literally purr at Kabuto's touch.

"Sorry for my assumption, but I did not peg you for a cat lover."

"That's because I'm not, but I..." Her voice fades, and she ponders on whether she should tell him about the day when she'd woken up to the same cat on her lap, sleeping ever-so peacefully despite her growing unease, but decides against it. Weakness is seen as weakness, no matter what; no matter if Kabuto's the only person she interacts with these days. "Is it not my husband's?"

Kabuto adjusts his glasses over his nose before he lets the feline down on the carpet gently, incorporating himself to his true height again after a pause. He stands only a few inches lower than Sasuke.

"My lord has not the time for these matters."

Sakura nods and bites her lip, taking one step back when the cat looks up at her while he licks his paw. It's like he remembers her, which would be stupid of her to think of, so she asks what has been troubling her for months. She never did give him a name.

"What is his name? Does he have one?"

"I call him Toshi. It is not like he answers to anything, anyway," he says.

Sakura makes a face. Or at least she thinks she does, for her teacher is pursing his lips to contain a smile when she speaks again.

"Toshi? As in wise?" Stunned, she asks, and frowns down at the cat in between them, who is currently licking his lower leg in a show of flexibility. Nothing particularly wise about that, she thinks. "Why name it this?"

"It was either Toshi or Xue, and I think I have grown soft on Konoha's nicknames, so I decided for the latter."

And with that, he moves toward her finished work by the long bench, inspecting everything with a clinical eye through his magnifying glasses, but Sakura can only stare in confusion. She has never heard the word Xue, neither here nor in her lifetime outside the castle.

The man is already an enigma to her, very secretive and quiet, keeping personal matters to himself all the time, to now mention a name in a tongue she has never heard of before. It's already enough that he lives so differently to every other person in the nation of Fire; this name only makes her deepest suspicions stronger.

She turns on her heel and looks at his back while he looks over the herbs she has collected, and she speaks loud and clear.

"I have never heard such a name before."

With a pause, he talks without facing her, only making her suspicions grow further.

"Which name? Xue? It only means snow, which looks just like the colour of his fur."

Sakura knows how to say snow in her language, and the several words which can describe it. She has never heard it before, which can only mean it doesn't belong here. She takes a step forward; the cat runs back to the windowsill without them noticing.

"Are you not from Konoha? Are you not from Fire?" She inquires, eyes cold and calculating as she watches his back. It tenses for a second before he turns to regard her, a small smile gracing his face but not quite reaching his eyes just yet.

"Of course I am, my lady, though my family was not. They were travelers from far away and had me in a small village South of Fire. It is there where I grew up, though they talked to me in their native tongue from time to time," he explains slowly, as if afraid she might stumble back and walk through the door, report him for treason to the castle's guards and have him prosecuted.

Maybe it is what she ought to do, for he is sworn to the Uchiha clan and Uchiha only, and cannot possibly be from any far off land, wherever that is, especially since the trading with neighbouring countries had stopped during the summer. Yet his stance is relaxed and his voice is soft, gentle, and his smile is still there to reassure her. He has not given her any reasons as to why she would not believe him, so she only nods once in understanding. The man has only shown kindness to her, after all, and that's the most she can ask for while trapped behind the tall walls surrounding the castle—her forever home.

"I see you have identified the right herbs. I am quite impressed at your learning speed, really," as soon as he changes the topic and turns around to face her work again, she joins him with a smile of her own, joyfully explaining why she had retrieved them in the first place.

She doesn't catch his eyes sharply shifting from the dry herbs to her face, or the subtle sag to his shoulders. And in the midst of her ramblings, she doesn't catch the dark gleam that crosses his eyes.

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.

.

During the month of December, most of her training shifts gears completely. The temperatures drop like never before in the year and, unless they're evergreen, most plants remain dead or dormant for the last month left in the year.

Kabuto starts describing the human body to her, starting with the brain and moving over to the eyes. She knows he's glossing over the terms and their functions; she knows he's holding back from the whole truth, but he only tells her to be patient and she can only acquiesce.

Hence, days are not entirely spent in his small house. It's way too cold and, on some days, she can manage with a few layers of clothes and a coat thrown over her shoulders. But on the days when it snows heavily, she has no way to walk across the castle, the gardens, and reach his abode, so she spends more days than not inside her castle, reading old political books she has no interest in and eating alone in the grand dining area.

With so much time in her hands, she does what she hasn't done in months. She thinks. She thinks of him because there's nothing else to do in the big but otherwise empty, lonely house, and she comforts herself by telling herself this when his face does manage to cross her mind. She doesn't really want to think of him or his careless words, but she still does anyway.

There is a reason why he refrains from having children yet. There is a reason why he ignores her, moves away from her even as they live together, and distances himself from her so abruptly. There is a reason why he refrains from touching her further when she knows he wants to. There must be a reason to explain why he locks himself inside his study room most days, only letting one or two of his advisors in at a time.

However, at the end of each day, the only person who can truly answer her worries is the man itself, and she's in no condition to face him again after the last blow she took.

So she only reads novels she has no interest in, walks over to Kabuto's whenever the weather considers it appropriate, and watches her husband's distant but familiar back on their bed every night, slowly moving up and down with each breath, unaware of her vulnerable, questioning eyes tracing over every single ridge and scar on his bare skin.

She doesn't want to think of him or his heavy words, but she does anyway. She doesn't want to care, but it's on one night in the middle of winter that she breaks the fragile wall around her heart, and she does just that.

She wakes up to the sound of shuffling of clothes and bedsheets moving, and finds that Sasuke is turning in his sleep to face her, on his side, with one hand under his pillow and the other in front of his chest.

And he looks so troubled, so not at peace, so not like she knows him, with dark bags under his eyes and a new set of wrinkles on his forehead. It reminds her of the night they'd shared; he'd been having a nightmare back then, too. Though now she knows he feels untouchable.

In his tossing and turning, he's close enough that she can smell the scent from the bathroom's candles and oils; she can smell, underneath all the soap, the warm scent of freshly-cut grass, old wood, and smoke. It's a familiarity that she didn't know had become familiar, and she wants to erase his troubles with her hands, touch the bags under his eyes so they disappear, and hold him close so he doesn't move away ever again.

As it is, with how their last encounter had transpired and how much time has passed since they'd last spoken, she can only manage a sigh.

He remains asleep, brows furrowed together in nightmares she knows he keeps having too well, though she does nothing now to appease him. Her hand stays unmoving even as her will is strong against her better judgement; were she to touch him in any way, and were he to wake, his reaction would be no good for any of them.

She closes her eyes in hopes of falling asleep; in hopes of forgetting his smell and his nightmares and her incessant overthinking over the situation. Alas, by the time she finds contentment in the peace of her mind, and right on the edge of finding the craved sleep she so desires, he moves further.

She gasps and opens her eyes wide when she feels his leg bumping into her own, for only a moment, as he tries to find a comfortable position to get rid of whatever plagues his dreams. She stares at him as he sleeps through everything that he's doing, stares at the way his frown deepens and his lips purse in a grimace.

If fate is testing her, then she has failed miserably.

His previous fussing has made strands of hair curtain his eyes and shield him away from her own, and she may have failed not only fate, but herself, when she doesn't find an ounce of hesitance as she lifts her arm slowly.

With one small, thin hand, she moves his long bangs away from his face, tucking them away behind his ear. Her touch is slow and gentle, soft so as to not wake him or disturb him in his sleep.

It's quite the opposite, somehow. As soon as she retreats her hand into the confines of her warm bedsheets, she takes a closer look at his face to make sure he's truly asleep. Where before there was a frown, there is none now, and whatever had been sitting on his chest before is gone as well, for his breaths come out in slower patterns.

More at ease, Sakura gives him a small smile he can't see, and finds peace in the sleep she can finally reach.

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.

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Sasuke owns three horses at the private stables of his castle. Two of them are as black as night, and the other is of a light brown, yet only one has been his since childhood. Old, reliable Yami has been at his side ever before his family's demise, and long after.

He still remembers the late afternoons spent playing with Itachi at the gardens, watching as his mother rode atop Yami, caressed her mane with care, and fed her apples from time to time. Even as those memories fade, the knowledge will always be there to remind him this is the only thing he has left of the woman who raised him: an old, stubborn, tired black horse. Maybe it's that knowledge that makes him still care; still show up at the stables every now and then, never really able of letting go.

His mother, all soft angles and fair skin, with hair dark as coal and eyes darker, yet somehow full of warmth for the family and the nation. She was, without a doubt, the strongest and kindest woman he has ever come to know.

And in a moment of consideration and doubt, as he walks under the welcome sun barely touching him in winter, he compares her to his wife for only a second, but he tampers the thoughts when they start leading to no good, starting with the fact that Mikoto was smitten with Yami, and Sakura can't even look at her from a distance.

He enters the stables and sighs, bypassing the other two horses, given to him as wedding gifts on two separate occasions, and opens the door to Yami's quarters. Her tired eyes look at him in acknowledgment, silently saluting him, but otherwise doesn't move.

"Hey," he says, taking the reigns and saddle out to put them on her—not that he'll ride her at her old age, but he still makes it a habit to take her out and walk around the gardens, if only to prolong the time left a little more.

It's as he walks out with Yami at his side—as he rounds a corner of the gardens and moves the horse away before she can step down on Sakura's treasured flowers, now dry and dormant—that he sees her. His wife. A few trees away from her—ever so graceful and ethereal and lovely, walking along the somber, white-painted gardens with a man by her side—he stops walking altogether.

She wears a coat and a scarf, and baggy, training trousers he can only guess she took from his side of the closet, and it's the first time he sees her wear anything other than a dress. She walks ahead of him with a man much taller than her, and Sasuke can't make out who it is because of a hat on the back of his head, though when they stop and turn to look at a still-green shrub, he narrows his eyes.

There's no doubt it's Kabuto. Even from such a distance between them, Sasuke can see him as clear as day.

He doesn't turn away and walk in a different direction because his wife has been spending time with the clan's official healer, nor does he because they'd walked close enough to brush arms, but because it's the first time he sees her smile at someone other than him, and this one is bright and genuine and happy.

Happy, something that he has never seen her wear ever since their marriage, and something that he never knew could fit her so well.

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"You weren't at dinner today," he interrupts the silence, back resting against the wall and one leg bent on the bed. He's sitting on his side of the bed, cold eyes trained on the slightly open bathroom door and the shadows behind it as his wife moves about. "Where were you?"

Doning a long nightgown, she slides the door open and stops at the threshold of the bathroom, crossing her arms across her chest and looking across the room toward the bed—even though it's too dark to see much past the shadows from the absence of the moon's glow. Her hair is still damp from the quick bath she'd taken, and she wants nothing more than to hide her body under the covers of the bed. The room's only window may be closed, but it's frosted over and the cold still manages to seep in through the cracks.

"I thought you might be asleep, dear," she responds, voice small but sure, unwavering. She pads over to the bed at last, lest she catches a cold for her careless behaviour. She slides the covers on her side away, lays her head on her soft, big pillow, and covers herself from chin to toe with a contented sigh, until she realises the room is too quiet now.

There's no reply for a long time, only the sounds of Sasuke's personnel cleaning after dinner three floors down. She pretends to not have heard him speak in the first place and closes her eyes in hopes of finding sleep, but when Sasuke speaks close to her once again, she wonders if he notices the slight jump she gives under the blankets.

"You must be busy, if you spend your days away from the castle."

His voice reaches her ears loudly, yet she knows his comment was only but a whisper in the quiet of their shared room. Whatever he is thinking, she doesn't know, but she understands something from the beginning; holds on to it until she has to bite her tongue in order to stay quiet; bites her tongue until she has to speak against her better judgement. His implications mean nothing against her interpretation.

Away from the castle.

"If only I could be granted such an honour," she mutters under her breath, glaring at the darkness of the ceiling overhead.

"That's not..."

But she doesn't want to hear him. She wants to sleep, so she turns away and gives him her back, pulling the covers closer to her face as if to shield herself from anything he might throw at her.

This is the first time she has spoken to him in months, yet all she craves is a good night's sleep. Away from his exasperated sighs and demanding tone, away from what he really wants to know, because she knows where this is headed.

He pushes her away once and she tries again. He pushes her away twice and she tries again. She doesn't want to try again anymore; not now.

"Not busy, Sasuke," she says, her voice sounding far away as she still doesn't face him. "Bored."

His response comes quickly and sure of itself; as if he has been wanting to say this from the start, like he probably has.

"What an entertainment my healer must be."

At this, her breath hitches. As she had suspected from the beginning, Sasuke only wants to discuss her daily meetings with Kabuto. She can only guess it's because, not too many days ago, she saw him looking at them out in the gardens. And if she knows a thing or two about her husband, it's that he always finds a way to appear direct, blunt, and imposing in order to get what he wishes at the time he wishes.

She wants to turn, but she's afraid of what she might say to him if she sees his pretty, heavenly-sculpted face; or what she might not say, in this case.

With a slow, exasperated sigh, she shakes her head slowly. She may still be hurt from their last encounter, but she can't afford to think like this. He's her husband and, despite their arguments and disagreements, they are still under oath. She will forever be linked to him in matrimony, and she will not disrespect him more than she already has, if she already has.

She takes a breath before she speaks again, voice muffled by the covers and laced with sleep, but otherwise understandable—which makes it all the more tragic.

"I had been reading about medicine for a long time before he agreed to train me. Yakushi Kabuto is merely teaching me about the human body now."

"I am sure he is." She hears him, though the sound is low and more like a loud thought, and she takes a few seconds to process his words. Whatever he means is answered when he opens his mouth again, and she audibly gasps at what he's implying—and the notion that it has been months, yet he still remembers their last conversation. "Tell me, is he primitive as well, dear?"

All the sleep she had been craving seconds ago leaves her as soon as she hears the words.

She turns and holds the blankets closer to her body, frowning at her stubborn, possibly-jealous, prying husband. It's in her best interest if she denies his suspicions now, or else she won't have anyone to train with in the morning.

"You mustn't think that. I am interested in the art of healing, so I've found a better way to spend my days: training under his tutelage."

Sasuke only looks at her at arm's length on the bed, facing her while she faces him, and she only wishes she could see him better at this time of night. But the moon—if there even is one tonight—can't go through the cracks on the window, so she only stares back at two glowing, dark eyes.

"Sasuke-kun."

If he believes her or not, she can't tell. He dismisses her after a heartbeat, like he hadn't heard her explanation at all.

"If you are as bored as you say, meet me at the stables first thing in the morning."

He turns to give her his back, and she can only guess that he's deemed the conversation finished.

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She wears trousers and a jacket with a thick coat on top, and enters the stables to find the man already there, brushing the mane of his horse inside one of the large, individual cubicles. The animal only glares at her and snorts, unsure of what she's doing there but most likely recognising her as the crazy lady who used to complain about her ruined flowers. Sakura herself has no idea, but when Sasuke reaches over a shelf and hands her a helmet, she vaguely gets it. However, her denial is as big as her wit, and she spends quite some time in front of the stables where she can only blankly stare at it.

"Put it on," he says, holding out the helmet even when she keeps staring at it, unmoving.

After a minute, he sighs and steps out of the cubicle, moving closer to her and placing the helmet on her head, locking it in place.

"I'll let you choose between them," he says, pointing to the other two horses and moving closer to—who she guesses is—Yami again.

"What?"

He pauses, glancing in her direction with piercing black eyes, locking eyes with her for only a second before he looks toward Yami and continues brushing her, never mind the ever-growing paranoia inside his wife's brain.

Sakura can only glare holes into the ground. Sasuke doesn't answer her; he doesn't order her to ride or go back into the castle, which makes the situation worse. By ignoring her, she can only stand there indefinitely—without his saying, she can't walk away from the situation, but she doesn't particularly want to do as he implies.

Sakura doesn't know how much time passes by, but after a certain amount of time she sees her husband put the brush to the side and walk out of the cubicle. Carefully and attentively, she watches as he walks toward her, and a knot forms in her gut at the notion.

"Forgive me, but I am not riding your horse," she says—or manages to articulate, because Sasuke moving out of the stables and into her space, added to the glare she's still receiving from his favourite horse, threatens to silence her.

Sasuke shakes his head once and frowns, pursing his lips as he thinks his answer through. He stops three feet in front of her.

"Yami is not available. Choose between the remaining two."

Even as she finds this information interesting, all she can do is shake her head and take one step back in alarm. The helmet on her head rests heavily over her.

"I've never done that," she explains, finding her voice again when she glances to the remaining two horses in the back. "I thought you knew that I do not go along well with animals."

"Then I will teach you."

"You can not teach me, Sasuke-kun. Animals are violent, uncontrollable creatures. And they do not fancy me in the slightest."

With a nod and a faint smirk, Sasuke starts walking back into the stables.

"Let me be the judge of that," and with that, his sound coming out in hard, velvety waves, she knows she has lost—not that she would ever win against her husband, but denial is a strong thing. "Which one?" He asks as soon as he reaches the two cubicles again, and she has to qualm her desire to groan into the helmet.

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She ends up choosing the light brown horse only because the other dark one resembles Yami maybe a little too much, and she doesn't want to take any chances. She'd not appreciate a horse throwing her on the ground or giving her a harder time than she already knows it's going to.

Her experience with horses may be limited—hell, her experience with every animal is limited—but she knows the risks of every situation well enough, and there are many, many things that could go wrong with a horse double her size.

Nevertheless, she adjusts her helmet, closes her coat more tightly against the light, cold breeze, and watches as Sasuke brings her choice out from the stables and onto the snow—a choice which is merely, she thinks, the lesser of two evils.

She walks closer with confidence, steadily and surely, though the horse snorting and shaking its head when it glances her way almost makes her trip. Sasuke stands next to the brown horse and stares at her slow but steady walk, securely holding the reigns with one hand, the leather coiled around his hand twice for added measure.

When she stands next to him and the animal, he pays close attention to her next move. Her small frame and reduced strength shouldn't enable her to climb on top of the saddle, especially since she has probably never done such thing in her life, but her confidence is something he appreciates in her. Even as he's practically forcing her to ride a horse, even as she has an unnatural fear of all animals big and small, she still wears a stubborn mask in the cold of winter.

He has the urge to roll his eyes when she sighs for the umpteenth time, and suddenly all her strength leaves her in little, subtle steps; her shoulders sag, her lips form a small pout, and her hands find each other self-consciously looking at the height she has to reach.

Switfly, he ties the reigns around one of the wooden beams that surround the stables, and moves toward her again.

As soon as his hands touch the subtle curves of her small waist, she jumps to the side as if burnt, turns around quickly, and looks at him in surprise.

Sasuke drops his hands after a moment, finding it in himself to tamper the frustration in his veins; he wants to stride over and lift her on the horse and get it done with, but instead all he does is stare and all she does is shift between him and the animal.

What an infuriating woman.

"I don't think you reach, Sakura."

He sees the wheels turning in her brain. When her head snaps up and her clear eyes lock with his, it's with understanding for what he'd been trying to do: help her. He has the urge to frown when she could think otherwise.

"Oh," she breathes, glancing at the horse and watching as it tries to find grass where there isn't any; all is covered by a thin mantle of snow. "I appreciate you trying to help, but I can very well get on. I just need a second."

In the distance, her husband's stationed guards try to do anything but stare from the back entrance of the castle, though it is a comical sight to witness by anyone near—a small woman trying to figure out how to get on a horse for the first time and without any help while her husband watches exasperated.

With a sigh, Sasuke retrieves the reigns and holds them tightly in his grasp, coming up to the side of the horse's head and looking back at Sakura—somehow, he wonders, and not without a struggle—already on the saddle and holding a set of extra reigns like her life depends on it.

"Your feet go on the stirrups," he mentions, pointing to the leather straps hanging from the saddle with his head.

"Thank you. I'm ready, you can let go now," she states, nods and looks toward the gardens. And she speaks with such determination and conviction that he almost wants to let go of the reigns and watch. If obtit weren't for the fact that she would most definitely make a fool of herself and fall from the saddle, he would.

Instead, he shakes his head at turns in order to face forward. With a simple tug, he starts walking slowly, glancing at Sakura when she yelps at the sudden movement of the animal moving.

Her eyes are as big and bright as he has ever seen them, looking under her and around her, and glancing at him in alarm after the horse gives a few trots that lift her from the seat suddenly.

"Don't let go!"

"I am only walking, Sakura."

"And I'm not used to this, Sasuke-kun."

He gives her a look and she clamps her mouth shut, though she doesn't waste her energy and directs her glare to a nearby tree instead.

After a few seconds, she notices he starts leading them into the forest he uses to train in, and he speaks amidst the silence.

"I won't let go."

She doesn't want to think about what that could possibly mean outside this random, terrifying activity, so she only holds the reigns tighter and looks at anything other than her husband.

They go through the forest and come out from the Eastern entrance, arriving at the stables once more after only ten minutes. This time, she lets him help her get down only because she can barely feel her hands and behind, but makes sure to distance herself and bow curtly as soon as he lets go of her hips.

As she walks away, she can almost feel his eyes follow her every movement. She can't help but think that, this time, after many restless nights and repressed feelings over his hurtful words so many days ago, it's his time to watch her back.


	8. Chapter 8

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Shikamaru lets the words out with confidence, though careful from many first-hand experiences with his superior's unpredictable behaviour; a type of quiet, boiling wrath under many thick layers of skin that only needs a small snap to burst forth. Shikamaru speaks, but he shuts his mouth as soon as the sentence is finished so that the man behind the desk can process the words correctly, slowly, and with time.

"We believe that your brother may be alive after all, my lord."

Sasuke's behavior can be unstable and rocky at times, but his habits are very easy to read. After all, he has been standing by the younger man's side for years. And as predicted, Sasuke quiets down, puts his ink down on the desk, and spends at least five seconds thinking his words through.

Shikamaru, his closest and most trustworthy advisor and part of the prestigious council of Fire, would not say these words lightly in his presence if they were not holding some sort of truth to them. He always takes what the man says seriously, and it should be no different this time. It is all it takes to make him understand the weight of his words all the more.

Sasuke stands from the zabuton slowly, and his confidante only looks up at him from across the low table that separates them—only if he says so, he can stand too. Shino, seated next to him, can only do the same.

Sasuke stands and stares them both down the bridge of his straight nose, dark brows furrowed and hands in fists under the few layers of formal, fine silk he wears.

"Explain yourself."

Shikamaru wastes no time, gaze moving away from the angry black and toward the open window past his imposing form, almost feeling like a child on the verge of getting reprimanded.

"Word from your men past the walls has reached my ears in the last weeks, and I only come here today because of its consistency. The same message has been mentioned many, many times over to be more than a small coincidence."

His men, his spies, placed around the village ever since his brother's fall was questioned, have just proved themselves to be useful. It's not that he had wanted to hire men for the job, really, but the peace around the country has left many a Samurai adrift, and working undercover while receiving a small allowance is better than nothing.

Sasuke purses his lips and waits, his suspicions having been confirmed. Shikamaru had waited weeks to tell him, until he knew this wasn't just some unimportant, bland rumour.

"There have been descriptions of a man much like your brother outside of town, a few towns over. It will only be so long before your people in the higher ranks get the news."

"Where?"

It comes out more as a demand than a question, but Shikamaru has known the man for quite some time now, and this behaviour is nothing short of the norm.

"We are trying to locate the possible sources as of now. What am I to do?"

For one, he could put his men to work day and night until they find the source of all the talk by the outskirts of the village. It could just be an ill-mannered rumour or a trap, but the word has been spreading for weeks and there are very, very few men that resemble his older brother. Sasuke has always known that Itachi shares—shared—the Uchiha genes like no other, taking after his father; unlike Sasuke, who has been the splitting image of his mother from a young age, sporting softer angles and less pronounced stress lines.

So, unless the descriptions of his brother are not befitting the older man like Sasuke knew him, the rumours may as well be true. And if they are true, Sasuke shouldn't waste any more time in trying to find him.

"What is it they say?" He asks, teeth grinding together in a mix of anticipation and anger and possibly, just possibly, fear of the truth. "What depictions are they painting of my brother?"

Shikamaru sighs as if the task of talking any more than he already has could spark a stroke in his chest. It's a good thing Sasuke has known him for years; such behaviour should not be tolerated with any lesser man.

Shino, noticing the tired behaviour in his friend, clears his throat and speaks through the mask that covers the lower-half of his face.

"They talk of a tall man with lean built. He was doning a cloak, and two men mentioned seeing a long, tied ponytail at one point."

Sasuke shifts his eyes toward the other man, one his other advisors; Shino, a man that is leader to a group of forest and wildlife experts around Fire country, one who has arrived at Konoha recently, just after an undercover expedition to the neighboring country for supplies. Sasuke's knowledge of this fact doesn't deter his ever-growing anger.

"How are you sure this source is credible? How can you be sure of this new information?"

"Sir, we have been looking all year for any and all hints. I think nothing should be ruled out."

Sasuke clicks his tongue and takes a step forward, hands up in the air, palms up. Something flashes across his features; something that resembles an emotion so strong on a usually-stoic face; something that makes Shikamaru and Shino suppress a flinch against their better judgement.

"And all this from what, exactly? Seeing him pass through a small town a few days from here? The forest? Across the border of Fire? Where?"

Shino stays silent only because the source has not exactly been located, and Sasuke only looks away when he understands there is no more information than what has already been given. He looks between the two men, and gives up.

With a sigh, he sits back down on the soft cushion on the floor, and passes a hand down his face slowly, massaging his temples with great patience. The anger he had felt at the mention of such rumours—the mere mention of his brother being alive and not six feet under like he has thought for years—is something he would prefer over the waves of defeat that wash over him now. All the fight leaves him in a heartbeat, and he only opens his eyes once more, drops his hand to his lap, and looks across the table toward Shikamaru when the man speaks in a tentative, low voice.

"Shall we pursue this?"

Sasuke stares at him; stares through him as he thinks. But there is not much to think about. If there is the slightest chance that his brother is alive, no matter how slim or unlikely, he will take it without a second thought.

"Have the Inuzuka clan trace the area for my brother, effective immediately. I want every guard on duty at the castle to report to me in the morning," he tells Shino, and looks back toward Shikamaru with no semblance of peace in his dark, bottomless eyes. "Let us devise a plan. I'm taking a trip."

"Right away."

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Sasuke leaves for a small village in the South side of Fire two days later. The whispers of Itachi's possible reappearance all trail back to a village hidden in Lava, the city with the highest temperatures and largest, dormant volcanoes in all the country.

Sasuke leaves Shikamaru at the castle and takes Inuzuka Kiba, Aburame Shino, and a small group of Samurai with him instead. It's a two day trip, but he'd rather trek it with experts at smells and forests and a few backup guards for protection than with a strategies expert. Unless it is a long-lasting battle or a war, he usually lets Shikamaru rest after he discusses the details of the small mission before leaving. It ensures the idea that, were anything to happen to them while away, Shikamaru would know every single thing that could have gone wrong. He has the permission to give direct orders for a rescue mission, then.

Throughout the trip, Sasuke spends a total of eight hours of the forty-eight sleeping, only enough so he can keep moving with eyes rested well-enough and a back relatively straight. Lava is a somewhat prosperous society of commoners, though not very famous because of its high temperatures all year 'round—and not very populated either.

It doesn't help when the village is also shielded by a range of inactive volcanoes that take an entire, arduous and extenuating five hours to climb over.

The sun beats on his back as soon as he steps through the gates, no questions asked and no missed respectful vows when the two bored, tan guards notice exactly who he is.

They take two days to get there, sweaty and exhausted, yet Sasuke moves forward, keeps his eyes alert for any and all signs of someone he used to know very well, and feels his skin crawl every time he thinks he spots him.

But he doesn't. He talks to the Daimyō of Lava, talks to some villagers, walks down the streets and around the perimeter, but he never finds his brother. He shows Akamaru a few small items of clothing from his brother's wardrobe so that his dog can smell them and track the odour—and it makes it even harder to accept this was for nothing when he remembers how long it had taken him to enter his brother's old, dusty and forgotten room—but all they lead to are dead ends.

It almost seems silly to him, thinking that his fallen, dead brother could be freely walking around streets that do not even belong to his home, with Sasuke. It seems silly to him, thinking that Itachi, if there was even a small chance of him being alive after the war by some strange miracle, wouldn't want to come back home with him and take the title of Shogun once more.

They don't find Itachi, and it suddenly feels silly that he tried to find him altogether in this remote village of Fire on the way back. The entire trip, toward the village and away, takes a week.

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Sakura only realises he's gone when she's walking to the dining hall on the day after his departure and hears a maid mention it in passing; gone on a mission with some of his men and a small army of Samurai for something she can only guess is related to his brother.

His absence from the village would explain his absence in their bedroom last night. It still doesn't make her mood any less sour, knowing she had to hear, yet again, the news from someone other than the man himself—none other than her husband, someone who is supposed to confide in her so long as they keep breathing.

She still sits at the table alone the rest of the week like any other normal, uneventful day. She should feel surprised, but she doesn't.

Instead, she feels something she hasn't felt in years: genuine, unrepressed, shameless anger. It boils inside of her until she feels she has gone mad, and expertly hides beneath her skin for the first three days of his absence. Even her silver-haired master, though he doesn't voice it out loud, notices her shift in emotions.

She doesn't care she's stomping on the ground instead of walking, or that she's cutting the leaves off plants with more force than necessary. It's anger toward Sasuke, toward his actions and toward his contradictory moves. It's his acceptance of her and his denial, the way he pushes her away only to pull once more, never letting go but never holding close enough. This rings in her head for hours on end, scratching the surface of her worries and reaching deep inside.

Not only had he tried to make things right for the past few weeks, but he had actually taken steps forward—helping her ride a horse, staying in bed until she wakes, offering simple glances during lunch and dinner, trying to keep her occupied so she doesn't spend her days solely by Kabuto's side.

Yet, at the end of it all, he still couldn't bother to let her know of his leave. He couldn't bother to say goodbye. She had to hear from someone else, as usual, just like at the start of their complicated marriage. At the end of it all, when all is quiet and peaceful and without him to occupy her mind, he had still told her the crude truth about ever having children that fateful day so many months ago.

On the fourth day of his absence, she takes a walk around the forest where he usually trains, where she had asked about attending her mother's wedding, and where she had seen him train countless of times. This time, he's not here and, alone and slightly before the sunrise, she lets herself think. She thinks of her mother, someone she probably will not see again. She thinks of her father, his boisterous laughter and his crude jokes, and the time he taught her how to hold a sword for the first time. She thinks of Ino, her best friend, whom she hasn't seen or spoken to since the wedding. She thinks of herself, and of her position, and of her duties and responsibilities.

She's the Shogun's wife and, whether she likes it or not, she will always be Uchiha Sakura, not Haruno anymore.

She thinks of Sasuke and how he seems to be trying, even if it's slowly and with many flaws. Sakura thinks, as she looks at the sun rising from the treetops, that if he needs more time to make things better between them, then she could give him that. Time is all they had, after all, and being angry has made her tired. It's not in her to feel this way toward him or toward anyone, simply because this is what the cards have dealt for her, and there is nothing that can change the fate that has already been written in the stars. She must take it, and adapt.

And when the man she's bound to love finally walks through the front door of their home, it's after a week. She has the decency—the detail—to wait for him at the entrance. Doning a small, blue and white Kimono, she folds her hands in front of her and waits.

Sasuke lands his eyes on her the moment he slides the door open, and she locks her own in his surprised, maybe even startled, face. She offers a small smile as he approaches her slowly, and she doesn't fail to recognise the blue air to his step. Whatever little mission he took, she knows he has failed.

So, if a smile is what she can give him at the moment, it's what he gets.

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It's a new year and the village below the hill she's upon rejoices at the maintained, newfound peace since the war's closure. It's been an entire year without civil war ensuing once more; there are very few things that should require more celebration than this fact. In a way, she has her husband to thank for accomplishing what Itachi couldn't: ending the war. In a way, the new year is celebrated in his name.

Sakura can only watch the colourful fireworks from the castle's backyard, sitting on one of the stone benches with a cup of gone-cold tea in hand.

They burst into colours in front of her eyes, and the defeaning sound is what hides the laughter and talk down the streets of Konoha. As a new year approaches, she wraps her coat tighter around herself and drinks from the cup, faraway eyes taking in the show in the usually dark sky above her. Her light hair is free of any restraints this evening, and she feels the tips tickle her waist as she looks up.

Kabuto sits next to her until the show of colours ends well into the night.

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She feels nostalgic, for a moment, remembering she used to light small fireworks with her father many years ago. It's bittersweet, thinking how much life has changed for her ever since he passed away in the war. This is all she thinks of when she gets the knife and makes him sit on a stool so they can be at the same level.

The second thing she thinks of is the reason why the man right in front of her hadn't been present the night of the fireworks—or, at least, not around her. So when she's with the knife in her hand and a towel in the other, she thinks it's the perfect time to ask. She stands in between his legs when she starts moving the metal on his chin.

"Were you in the castle for the fireworks?"

"No."

She shouldn't really have to ask. Beside the fact that she had to look around almost every corner of their giant palace for him, a small request for his advisor, Shikamaru, was all she'd needed to know of his absence. What she doesn't know is why he wasn't there.

"How come, dear?" She asks, her voice sounding innocent enough.

She cleans the razor-sharp metal on a white cloth by the basin, and he follows the movement with attentive eyes.

"Something came up," he answers, adjusting himself on the stool of their spacious bathroom.

"Something important, I suppose."

He grunts in response, watching as she comes closer to his seated form and slightly bends down to get a closer look. And with utmost care, she grabs his chin and tilts it upwards. Soon enough, he feels the edge of the razor moving methodically against his neck.

It's not that there aren't available workers at the castle to do the job. It's that she had offered to do it herself after seeing his ever-growing facial hair, and he hadn't had the chance to decline; not with those big, wide eyes of hers boring into his own, knowing quite well he's just going to deny her as he does with everything else.

Now, as she's holding a knife to his neck while she tries to spark a casual conversation with him, he starts to wonder if he should have just denied her request on the first try.

"I happened to watch the fireworks from the backyard," she continues as if nothing, voice small and non-consequential. "They were quite lovely, I may say."

He opens his eyes to look at her, but he can only stare at the ceiling as she still has his chin up by her dainty, small fingers. Whatever point she's trying to get across, he can only wait for.

Sakura knows fate is unavoidable, and she has come to terms with her dull and fruitless marriage. However, knowing that she has come to terms with his unexplainable absences doesn't mean she can't let him see the problem. Knowing that she has come to terms with his behaviour doesn't mean she can't discuss it with him.

At this point in their relationship, it might just be what he needs.

"Though I wish I had spent the night with you instead," she says, moving the razor up the side of his neck, signaling she's almost done with her work. "Yakushi is not my husband, after all."

At this, he moves his head down without a second thought. In the quick and unexpected movement, she has only enough time to remove the razor from his neck, but she doesn't have time to sigh in relief at the realisation she hadn't cut him. Because, all of a sudden, she meets his eyes and her breath leaves her lungs in one second, gone like the words stuck in her throat and the plan she'd had in mind.

He grabs the razor still in her frozen hand and tosses it aside, nevermind if he still has one or two hairs in his face that won't be shaved anymore.

"Enough of this," he says, moving his eyes to her green, green gaze once again; rare, and so hauntingly beautiful. "Do you wish to provoke me? I already said I could not attend."

When his wife only stares at him like a lost puppy, he has the urge to stand and leave her be to her own devices. But he won't, because this isn't the first time in their marriage where she tries to instigate something, and he'll be damned if he runs away this time without a proper explanation.

"Tell me, why let him keep you company?" He asks, accusatory tone edging into his voice, his face moving closer to her own in a show of defiance. "I was informed you were only interested in the art of healing."

At this, Sakura can only frown and hold his impenetrable gaze. "I am."

"Is it possible something else has caught your attention?"

If she wasn't directly facing him, she would have disregarded his question as a bit of playful teasing, bantering. But she sees the way his jaw locks, the way his eyes shine a black venom, and the protuding vein at the sides of his head. She knows he's not playing around, and she knows what he's suggesting, but it's exactly what she had hoped to achieve from the very start of the conversation, and it puts her back on track.

"He is not my husband. You are."

In that moment, Sasuke physically moves away, back straight against the outside of the bathtub and face set in stone. She gets the idea that he's going to get up and leave as per usual, which is the only reason why she moves closer to him, bending forward until there are mere inches between their faces, and speaks to get her point across the small space in between them.

"I mention him only because he is here when you are not," she watches his lips as they open, ready to interrupt her with some crude remark, but she shakes her head once and watches as he closes them again; purses them until she can't see them in his anger anymore. "I know we have had our disagreements along the years, but..."

And as quickly as her confidence had found her, it leaves her in a heartbeat after the words leave her mouth. Despite everything, she has accepted this is who she is and has been for some years now. She wants nothing more than to spend time with her husband, yes, but she also wants nothing more than to hide in some corner and never come out again.

She has always worn her emotions on her sleeve; has always been blunt with her feelings. Yet there is something in the way he looks at her that makes her heavy with regret. He only stares, and it's hard for her to not be the one who runs away now. However, it's too late, and she must push through.

If she's going to feel vulnerable, she's going to feel vulnerable long enough to get an answer, whether it is verbally or physically doesn't matter. He's not moving an inch, and she speaks again when she knows she won't step all over her words.

"Believe me when I say there is nothing more I want, than for you to find time for me."

Sasuke looks at her, then, not through her; looks at her rose-coloured cheeks, her elegant brows down with concern, her sparkling green eyes, her thin pink lips under her teeth in worry. Sasuke looks at her, and he sees nothing more than a woman who wants to understand all that he is, all that they are, and all that they ever will be.

It has almost been four years into their marriage, and this is the first time she lets him know of her feelings. If anything, she has been patient. Sasuke blinks in contemplation, eyes roaming her face for any signs of treachery and finding none, already knowing her to be true with him in spite of all that he's done.

And if not patient, then resilient. This constant need for answers is what makes him talk, if only to settle this once and for all.

"When we married, I was only a warlord," he starts, and frowns at the way her eyes widen, as if she had never expected him to reply to her confession in the first place. "I understand if you feel like this is too much now that I am Shogun. I have not enough time."

The gentle looks she gives him, in a moment of silence, almost makes him look away.

"A few minutes of your day couldn't hurt anyone, my lord," she answers, without a doubt in her mind, and the small smile she gives him has him wishing for more air.

Her smile only grows when he finally relents and looks away to a point over her shoulder, but there is only a suffocating kind of silence for the next few seconds, and he has to look back at her when he notices she's not going to talk otherwise.

His hands are resting on his lap, and they tingle when she covers them with her own.

"I wish to know you more, Sasuke-kun," she whispers in the privacy of the spacious, wood-decorated bathroom—the same bathroom, she thinks, where she shared a bath with the man once. "If only you let me."

Sasuke stands then, and shakes his hands off the feeling of soft, small hands holding his own. He walks toward the exit of the bathroom and opens the door, finding the air he has been craving for in the last few sentences of their conversation.

He only speaks when he feels he can breathe again.

"I leave in a few hours, but I am to come back in two days. Until then, you must wait."

And with that, he steps out of the bathroom.

She can only think that this is the first time he has ever let her know of his leave.

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She's bending forward, tending to one of the gardens with Kabuto, when the door on the back of the castle slides open. She doesn't pay much attention to the motion, mostly because her guards are entering and leaving and constantly moving about to ensure her safety, especially when her husband is gone.

"I thought plants in this family did not grow during winter. Might I know why this one is any different?"

The seconds pass and, when she receives no answer, she stands slowly and spares a glance toward the older man behind her, but he's not looking anywhere near her. Instead, his gaze is trained past her, on a point behind her shoulder, and it takes her a moment before she realises he's looking at the newcomer with a hard look on his features.

She turns and looks toward the castle. As suspected, there is someone looking at them from afar, though it's someone she hadn't expected to see ever, ever again.

A guard approaches her and bows until she has the control to look from the man at the door to the guard in front of her.

"My lady, lord Orochimaru has come to visit. He seems to be aware that my lord is not present until later today, yet he persists."

He rushes the words at her distrustful gaze, and almost scrambles away when she dismisses him and wraps her coat tighter against her body. Looking back at Kabuto, she offers an apologetic smile and watches as his transfixed, lost eyes land on her own for the first time since Orochimaru's arrival.

"I shall tend to our visitor now. Excuse me," she says, expecting a dismissive, respectful bow from the man but receiving a messy, lost smile instead. She walks toward the warlord at the door before she can think about the action.

Orochimaru's smile has a sharper, more unstable edge to his face when she reaches him, yet she returns the gesture with a soft tilt of her lips without a doubt; no matter how creepy the man may be, she has to do what is expected of her.

He offers a small bow and shines his yellow, piercing eyes at her from a safe distance.

"My, my, am I glad to see you again, lady Uchiha. May I say, your beauty only grows with time."

She thinks she sees his tongue dart out to lick his lips, but only smiles brighter and looks away from him.

"Thank you. I should say I am surprised to see you once more," she offers, opening the door and stepping inside the building. "However, my husband is not here at the moment. Should you visit tomorrow, he would be more than happy to talk."

"Oh, there is no need, my dear," he mentions behind her as he also steps inside and turns to look behind him. As he takes hold of the frame, his eyes catch the silver-haired healer a few steps ahead, and something like acknowledgement passes between them before he closes the door.

Sakura stops walking and turns, repressing a gasp when the taller, pale man stares down at her with a beaming, crooked smile a few inches away from her body. Instinctively, she has to take a step back.

"No need? Sorry, but I don't understand," she offers him a small smile that does not reach her eyes. In a way, his smile does not reach his eyes either. In a way, she tries to cover up and ignore his very familiar manner of speaking toward a woman of her status.

"I am here today to talk to you, not your husband. Shall we go to his study?" He asks, motioning to the grand staircase past the main hall.

Sakura swallows and frowns as soon as she gives him her back, biting the inside of her lip when she starts walking and hears him come along.

"Follow me."

She walks up the stairs to the second floor and follows the trail toward her husband's vacant office, the door at the end of the hallway mocking her of all the instances she has been inside and how the situations had not been in her favour each time.

Glancing at the two guards stationed at each side of the door, she murmurs a quick order to make them stay on alert, opens the door, and closes it as soon as Orochimaru comes in.

She takes a deep breath.

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Naruto looks at the board in between them on the floor with a frown—mostly from confusion. The unguarded, simple room facing his imperial backyard is bathed in silence for a few more seconds where Sasuke waits and Naruto only can do so much as stare.

"Why are we playing this?" He finally asks, and Sasuke clicks his tongue in exhasperation.

"We always play this," he says. "You just don't want to because you always lose."

"No," the blond responds immediately, almost pointing an accusing finger at his best friend. "It's just so boring."

Sasuke shakes his head and doesn't bother to move his next piece in favour of the blond's wishes. When he opens his mouth to speak, someone sides the door open on the other side of the room, and he watches as Hinata bows to them from the entrance.

"My apologies, but-"

Naruto turns to regard her, then, and Sasuke watches as he flashes the brightest smile at his wife.

"You're here!" He exclaims, gets up as fast as lightning and almost quite literally sprints toward her petite form, enveloping her in a crushing hug before his best friend's eyes—not that either of them have ever cared, anyway.

"Naruto-kun!" Sasuke hears her muffled scream and notices the teacups in her hands almost spill over the contents inside. "You are making me spill the tea!"

At that, Naruto moves away enough to let her breathe, but not enough to let her go. He grabs her face in his tan hands.

"I've just missed you so much, you know, Hanabi's castle is on the other side of the damn country."

"No need to be so dramatic. I was only away for one week."

She chuckles at his antics and he dips his head forward, moving closer to her in what Sasuke can only guess is for a kiss. He looks away until he deems it appropriate to look again. By then, they're both already walking toward him.

"Sasuke, I hope you remember my wife," he says, sitting in front of him once more with his own warm cup of tea in hand.

Sasuke nods once to him, and once to Hinata, offering a small bow she immediately returns.

"I do," he says.

"So do I. It is great to see you again, lord Uchiha," she responds, taking two more steps in order to give him his own cup of tea, one which he takes gladly.

"Thank you," Naruto exclaims with enthusiasm, and the smile he gives her is enough to make her blush and scurry away. His bright, foolish smiles stays glued to his face even after she leaves the room, and it makes Sasuke question if the woman is really two years older than them, and if they have really been married for more than a decade. They sure still look like lovesick teenagers.

With a shake of his head, Sasuke drinks from his tea and steals a glance at the board in between them. Shogi has never been the blond's strongest suit, but it's exactly what makes it all the more fun when he beats him at it to begin with, again and again every time he visits. Maybe it's time to change the game.

He looks at him.

"Let's spar. Like old times," he announces, and the mere suggestion makes the blond choke on the hot liquid. "Before I became Shogun and before you became Emperor of Fire. Do you remember?"

Naruto's lovesick smile turns crooked—excited—and Sasuke watches as he stands and offers him a hand to do the same.

"Fight until neither of us can stand. Yeah, I remember," he says. "No weapons?"

Sasuke takes his hand, gives it a firm squeeze of reassurance before he gets up completely.

"No weapons."

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She's, if anything, curious as to why this warlord of Fire wants to speak with her and not with her husband. Such meetings are not something she has ever heard of, or ever been taught, for that matter. The Shogun's wife holding a meeting with the Shogun's warlord, alone in her husband's office? Unheard of, and most likely inappropriate and forbidden.

She tells herself that, technically, she's not completely alone—after all, the material of the door is not that thick, and there are two guards stationed right outside the room in case she needs anything. Not that she really wants to resort to call for any help at all. In fact, she wants this talk to go smoothly and, most importantly, quickly, though the man in front of her doesn't seem in much of a hurry.

He looks the same as the last time she saw him a few years past, as if time hadn't touched his skin at all. His eyes are still that stricking amber, lined with black in a rare, wing-like shape that goes all the way to his hairline at the sides of his tar black and long, tied back hair. His skin is so pale that she has to fake the urge to check him over from up close because, could that possibly not be makeup?

She inwardly sighs and takes a seat behind her husband's desk, motioning Orochimaru to do the same across from her, legs tucked under thighs as practiced for a lifetime.

Sakura smiles.

"I apologize if the tea is not ready, but this is certainly short-notice," she says, politely taking breaks while she speaks. "If you don't mind it, I could fetch you some at this time, or tell the guards to bring some."

Orochimaru smiles pearl white teeth at her, the purple markings around his eyes wrinkling with the movement. If he notices her squirm on the cushion, he doesn't show it.

"No need, dear. I could not possibly keep you waiting any longer. You must be wondering why I am here with you."

The last three words are breathed more than spoken, hissed more than said. It makes Sakura's skin fill with little goosebumps, and the hair on the back of her neck stand.

"What is the meaning of this impromptu visit?" She asks, a smile—somehow—making its way onto her lips, stretching the corners with a little too much difficulty. Once again, if he notices her fake smile, he doesn't show it.

"There is a reason for my visit, my lady," he draws out, smiling through sinful, sparkling eyes. "Especially since I am not here for your dear husband."

He speaks slowly, and watches her with slower eyes that trace every one of her small movements. She doesn't remember being trained in any of this, so she only copies her husband and tries to keep her emotions at bay under a taciturn facade, as hard as that proves to be.

"I am here because of him, though," he says, watching her face. "And I daresay you do not know him as well as you should."

At that, she physically blinks and stares, not nearly processing the words as quickly as her brain should. And when it clicks, she blinks again and forces a smile through clenched teeth.

"Pardon?"

"Tell me, do you know anything about the Uchiha massacre?"

In that moment, time stands still, and she has to force the words out of her lips.

"Massacre?" She asks, and unconsciously wipes the smile off her lips. It seems like he has no idea she can call up the guards and order them to take him away, added to the fact that she can tell Sasuke about all of this and let him take care of it—just like he's taken care of others.

When she glances at the door past his shoulders, he smiles; licks his thin lips for added measure.

"Oh, but are you not a little curious?"

"There was no such massacre in the Uchiha clan," she responds, though she doesn't know why she feels the need to. Their eyes meet a second later. "Most members passed in a fire years ago."

"Maybe," he says, and chuckles to himself when he speaks again. "But who started the fire?"

"It was an accident."

"Was it, really? You don't know for sure."

"I was only but a toddler," she quickly answers, having the urge to tap her foot on the tatami-covered floor when the man gets ready to ask another rather inappropriate question, one she doesn't let take place. "I refuse to discuss this topic any further. Any and all matters concerning my husband are to be discussed with the man himself."

"Is that so?"

When she stands, and he's forced to do the same and bow, his smile turns somber and duller, takes on the form of something darker that dares speak into her soul.

"Then, I would like for you to let him know of my visit," he says. And just like that, he finishes bowing to her and backs away to open the doors.

"Please, my dear, let him know I hold all the answers."

She stares at his retreating form with a strange, disturbed feeling in her gut that follows her well into the night.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the wonderful reviews! This is where the story takes a turn, I hope you like it:)

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She doesn't know how to tell him, so she doesn't. For a while, she dances around the subject without really giving anything away, and it nags at her brain for the better of two weeks.

It's not that she doesn't want to tell him about Orochimaru's strange visit, but that she doesn't know when to, how to, or what to tell him exactly without having him close off to her or start a new futile quest to find his brother. It hasn't really helped her that he's been in and out of the castle ever since he returned a day after the snake man's visit; in fact, him going away so often only serves as a petty excuse to keep the event from leaving her lips, and so she doesn't tell him.

He hasn't really informed her, but she knows something's up in the country as well, if not the village. In the short duration of two weeks, it doesn't make sense that she only sees him twice, and it's only quick and in passing. He either spends his days conducting meetings in his offices with people she does not know, departs to other villages, establishments, or castles she holds no knowledge of either.

The maids don't really tell her and his advisors refrain from talking about their superior's plans with so much freedom, even if it is to their superior's wife. There is this sort of secrecy in the castle that makes her suspicious, yet it's clear that war is not upon them. If it is, then the village is far too quiet for such a predicament.

When nobody wants to tell her what her husband is doing and she doesn't even see him to begin with, it makes it all the more bearable to hold the truth from him as well. She's not lying, after all; she's only preventing the truth of Orochimaru's meeting from reaching his ears, especially since she wouldn't really know how to approach the subject.

She's not stupid. She knows that telling Sasuke about what had transpired at the meeting with Orochimaru can only bring bad news. It will only ignite a stronger flame in her husband, and she knows that he will seek the answers from the older man like she knows he will take any opportunity to discover the truth of his brother's—possible, most likely—demise.

Not to mention that the way he had spoken to her would probably fall on deaf ears. Sasuke would definitely opt to look past that in order to get more information, and the disrespectful ordeal would be forgotten.

She still remembers the audacity of that man, how he had spoken to her in such a direct manner, almost talking over her head and down the bridge of his nose. It is true that women her age and status don't hold much acknowledgment or social recognition in the grand schemes of things, but she had been holding a meeting in the place of Sasuke, and he still had had the nerve to silence her with his blunt words—words that spoke of the Uchiha clan in foreign circumstances.

Whatever had he meant by that? An Uchiha massacre? Unheard of, and very controversial. The Uchiha had died in a fire several years back—almost a decade ago, even. Sasuke had been a teenager, and Sakura a toddler.

There was a fire, starting out small and consuming the old, highly-respected Uchiha grounds—including the castle and each and every tree. There was a fire, but there was no one at fault. The whispers of Daimyō and Samurai made sure of establishing that notion from the start. Anything different would be to question the possibility of a culprit in her current clan's fall, and she won't do that under any circumstance; she can't betray her own.

What she doesn't understand is why Orochimaru, merely one of the many Daimyō of Konoha, would risk his life like that. Either the man is out of his mind, or his statements, for some reason and however much evidence, hold truth to them.

At the end of the day, the costs of telling Sasuke about this meeting would outweigh the benefits, and that's what she tells herself as the time goes by.

After the first few days, she feels the words at the tip of her tongue whenever she sees him walk by. After only two weeks, she finds the words forgotten, locked away in a faraway part of her brain, and barely even thinks of it. That is, of course, until someone unexpectedly reminds her of it.

"Sakura-san," she hears the familiar tone to his voice a few feet away, and she pauses in her work for a moment before she hums, letting him know he can proceed. In the back of her mind, she hears him say something, but she doesn't pay much attention.

Her concentration can't falter in the slightest and she has no idea why he's even bothering; he knows just how careful she has to be. Taking out the venom from a viper is no easy feat, and it is her first time—after watching him do it several other times over the last month. Every time they'd found one small viper, or at least relatively small, he'd picked it up and proceeded to show her the process he calls "extraction."

This time, as usual, they had found the young, small and thin viper in the gardens that morning, and she'd had to do everything in her power to not jump from excitement when he'd told her it was time—it was time for her to do it on her own. Kabuto interrupting now doesn't really help her learn this rather complex trick, much less when her hands shake when she grabs it from his hands.

And yet, as she wraps a thin layer of paper over a small, transparent cup, and places her index finger and thumb on either side of the snake's head, she hears him again. As she places her fingers on each of the glands, she hears his—otherwise, and in other circumstances, soothing—voice again.

"Must you speak?" She asks, taking her eyes off the snake to spare him a brief glance that screams of warning, yet he talks again as if he hadn't heard her as soon as she looks away.

"Sakura-san," he repeats, his usually calm voice now escalating in volume for a second. It's the only reason she pauses midway to her learning lesson, and she turns her head to look at him once more, to her chagrin, though she doesn't move the snake.

"Yes? You ought to know I am trying to focus."

He doesn't give her a smile. He doesn't even move.

She frowns at the peculiar, serious look crossing his features for a moment, and almost turns to face him fully.

"What is it? Is something the matter?" She asks, and watches as he starts approaching her slowly from the door of the small cottage.

"My apologies, Sakura-san. I didn't mean to startle you in a dangerous situation like this, but I have a..." He stops talking and walking altogether, thinking his words through, before he starts again. "I have a confession to make. I can only hope it stays within these walls."

Sakura doesn't answer right away, but she nods after a few seconds of speculation. She has been spending her days with Kabuto for several months now, and she can only acquiesce to his humble, soft-spoken request. He has given her no reason to think otherwise, and doing anything against her is futile; it can only backfire against himself.

The green, small viper hisses when he speaks next.

"Are you rather close to my lord, your husband?"

"Am I close?"

Her mouth opens in wonder, at a loss for words. Out of all the things he could have asked in that moment, this had not been on her list. It hadn't even crossed her mind.

Is she close to Sasuke? The man has always been a bit standoffish, and maybe a bit distant and cold; maybe a little bit aloof and quiet; blunt and insensitive.

Maybe, at the start of their marriage and in the two years following, they had not been close at all. Maybe now, after endless discussions and several tries and fails at actually being husband and wife, they are starting to warm up to each other, but it's no exact science, and she can't really affirm it from the heart.

After all, it's almost a game they're playing, this constant push and pull that threatens to drive her mad. During the first year as a married couple, she had realised just how things were going to work quickly enough; Sasuke's not exactly an affectionate person, much less someone who takes others' people's feelings into consideration. And Sakura, as soon as she took note of this, had distanced herself slowly from him by taking an interest in books, sewing, painting, and gardening. Each any every one of her hobbies has died one by one, slowly but surely.

First it was sewing, then painting, then books. Gardening and learning with Kabuto has been the only up to her usually down daily turn of events throughout every rough patch, though she started quite late; she hasn't been learning for a whole year yet, in reality.

During the first year of their marriage, things had been quiet—the calm before the storm. During the second year, she had almost ended her life, humiliated him inside a public establishment, bathed with him, and risked having an affair of all things with a man she hadn't even known. Such turn of events shouldn't exactly be considered an improvement in their relationship, but a dent. They shouldn't, but they had, and for some strange and unexpected reason, she has engaged with Sasuke in this past year more than she has in the first two years of their marriage.

Because during the third year, and so far, she has shared her body with him for the second time, won at playing shogi against him, ridden a horse alongside him, argued about his futile desire to retrieve his older brother from the nothingness...

Is she close to Sasuke, though? Is she close to him as husband and wife should be? Is she close him like how she has read it should, and could, be? Is she close to him enough to know him inside out? Has she spent enough time with him to be that close? Have they been intimate enough? Have they been affectionate like she has been taught he would? More often than not, the answer is not something she desires to hear.

She doesn't want to answer Kabuto. Even with all of his friendly, calming aura and respectful words, she doesn't want to prove it or disprove it, so she does the next best thing, and dances around the question with another one of her own.

"Why ask this in particular?"

It seems as though he'd been expecting this answer, for he smiles and sits on the stool next to her, in front of one of his long, wooden desks for working—which is what she should be doing, if not because of the venomous snake still between her fingers.

"Pardon me, but I must say Orochimaru-san visited me a few days ago bringing the same news he did to you."

This makes her widen her eyes in surprise against her better judgement, and the hold she has on the viper loosens ever-so-slightly at the unexpected news.

The first thing that rings in her head is the fact that this comes as unexpected in the first place.

"How was I not aware of this?"

Orochimaru had passed the gates of her castle and walked across the gardens to Kabuto's hut, and she hadn't been notified? She hadn't noticed?

"I'm afraid he visited late. By then, you were asleep," he explains.

Holding knowledge of this only makes her feel at a disadvantage, if anything.

If what Kabuto's saying is true, then he knows everything Orochimaru had told her, and maybe even more than that. If Kabuto had been more of a listener than what she'd been, Sakura can only wonder how many more things he knows now that she doesn't.

She sighs and turns her gaze to the table, looking at the hissing, developing snake in her grasp. It had taken her hours to learn what she had to do, and weeks to muster up the courage to so much as touch it—she doesn't want to come close to a horse, much less a venemous snake.

It would have been a simple procedure. All she'd have to do is apply pressure and move its head closer to the cup. The fangs would break through the paper instinctively, and the venom would be shot into the vase one pulse at a time. It would have been a simple procedure, one that she can't perform now.

With another sigh, she places the animal inside the box where they had trapped it back in the gardens, and closes the lid; whatever Kabuto chooses to do with the vile creature is not her problem now.

"I think it is best if I perform the extraction on another occasion."

Kabuto looks at her with an apologetic smile, and he readjusts his spectacles to stand higher on the bridge of his nose.

"Perhaps," he agrees, "I believe that one day such extractions will give way to an antidote. That is what I'm currently working on, actually."

Sakura cares not for such trivial concerns. At the moment, the snake is finally gone from her grasp, and she can face him in her seat at last. She doesn't dare waste much time. Soon, she will be fetched by a maid for lunch, and she's almost certain her husband is arriving from a diplomatic mission at that time, so she doesn't feel any remorse when she neglects Kabuto's ramblings with another, more pressing topic.

"Talk."

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She finds Sasuke as he's entering the castle's premises through the supposedly heavily-guarded front gates. His selected army of Samurai stands outside the tall and thick stone gates, bowing after reaching the end of their three-day journey. Sasuke dismisses them briskly, and watches as they retreat while the tall, double doors start closing.

Sakura almost runs to him, not because she's ecstatic to see him after a mere three days, but because the matter at hand is urgent. She moves through the trees—because he's finally here, and she can finally tell him—and the grass and the stone quickly, holding up her long dress so as to walk with more ease.

She almost dares trip on a branch on the forest floor, but regains her footing and doesn't lose her motivation in approaching him, especially not when the forest ends and her sandals are met with the concrete of the front entrance. She's so close she can make out his dirtied attire, his rather long hair in a low ponytail, and his rigid stance as he watches his team of Samurai walk away from the castle.

She yells his name as she reaches him, hands grasping his forearms as though he will escape at the sudden act or she will fall in her own momentum. His hands immediately find the small of her waist to steady her, and she tries to ignore this instantaneous reaction from him in order to catch her breath.

Her husband had turned his head in her direction a second before she reached him, right as the tall double doors closed with resounding vibrations. At last, she stands in front of him with urgency written all over her features, and gasps leaving from her lips at the hurried walk from Kabuto's home to the front gates.

When she wrinkles the material of his uniform in her grasp and looks up into his stern, troubled face, his eyes widen against the unpredictable welcome. He opens his mouth to speak, but comes at a loss of words for a moment while he takes all that she is in.

She's panting, catching her breath before she can even begin to tell him anything about her strange behaviour. Her hair is behind her in an intricate bun up on her head, her skin glistens with a thin layer of perspiration, and her cheeks are red from the rush of hurrying over to him.

And the first thing that he thinks is that, yes, they had agreed to know more about each other once he came back from his short trip. But that had been weeks ago and she'd never mentioned their silent promise to compromise more in the relationship. This should, most certainly, not be the reason why she runs to him after he comes back, holds on to him as if her life depends on it, and waits to catch her breath so she can speak.

The second thing that he thinks is much less rational, and lacks logic altogether. She looks scared, pale and frail, hesitant but distraught, and it's all he needs to wonder about her safety in their castle. Had something happened while he was away? Had she been attacked, for some reason, under the impression that her husband was gone for a few days? Had someone hurt her, lay their hands on her?

It all sounds extremely unlikely and ridiculous. If something had happened to her, at all, he would have been notified—regardless of if he was in the next town over or on the other side of the world. It all sounds extremely unlikely, but it's also true that Sakura, his small and resilient wife, has never shown him this horror-struck face before, and all the red flags in his brain stand against whatever his brain may be yelling at him. However unlikely, his eyes threaten to flash an angry red at the slim possibility of her wellbeing being compromised.

"What is it?" He asks. Her breaths are coming out more evenly now, and she looks up at him through some strands of hair that have escaped her intricate hairstyle during the run. His hands leave her waist in a second, but he grasps her shoulders in the next, almost shaking her when she remains silent. "What is it, Sakura?"

"I need to speak with you," she says, biting her lip when he doesn't respond right away. Surely, this isn't what he'd been expecting. "Now."

"So speak."

"No," she shakes her head and takes her hands off his forearms slowly, as if she hadn't known she'd ever put them there to begin with. Sakura breaks eye contact with him and remembers where they are, who could see them, and the example she has to set for herself. Then, she looks down and speaks in a much lower, much formal voice. "It must be in privacy, if you so consent. Such things should not be spoken in the outdoors."

There is no one around them, and his guards wouldn't be foolish enough to give away any information Sakura wants to relay to him, but he understands this might not be the best place to talk in private.

He nods and retrieves his hands from her bony—much too bony and small, he notices—shoulders, and turns around so they can walk back into the sturdy walls of the castle.

Sakura follows him with dainty but sure steps up the stairs and all the way to their bedroom. She briefly wonders why he hadn't led them to the room where he conducts most meetings, but shakes the thoughts away as soon as she closes the door behind them.

Sasuke turns to regard her, but wastes no time. She understands why he had led them here when he fumbles with his coat before shrugging it off.

"What troubles you now?"

He walks inside their closet, and she frowns at his insinuation. Granted, she has been prone to share her troubles with him on different ocassions, though not all of them on the same spectrum.

All of her other concerns have been small considering what she's to tell him now, but there's no need to put her down like that. Yes, asking about his cat's name may have been a bit preposterous, yet asking about attending her mother's wedding had been far from that. She purses her lips at his sudden change of attitude; maybe he thinks this is just a redundant question, which is why she says what she says after a few seconds.

"I bring news about your brother, my lord," she cautions. "Our own safety may also be threatened."

She hears him pause inside the ample closet, and watches as he enters the bedroom again in one of his loose, training trousers and a shirt that fits him like a glove. They haven't eaten yet, so she only guesses that he's getting ready to train after they eat lunch.

She knows it's not going to happen.

In any case, and with his poorly-timed accusation minutes earlier, he only stands a few feet in front of her now, hands down and shoulders relaxed even after she mentions his beloved family member. His eyes search for hers while her mind spirals into oblivion, and she tells herself she's making this more than it should be—after all, it is what he's been investigating for the better of a year, and he deserves to know.

"Well?" He asks, voice low and eyes curious.

So she speaks, wobbly legs threatening to give out under her and heart in her throat. She speaks, a knot in her stomach and her eyes looking anywhere but at him.

"He's not alive," she says, slowly and cautiously, knowing he won't understand. The next words come out faster in her nervousness, and she knows she has made a mistake the moment she finds his gaze again. "Your brother's death was planned, my lord."

She tells herself she's making this more than it should be—it's a constant mantra in her head at this point in order to keep herself going. But such thought is futile and bears no truth to it when she sees her husband give her the hardest, coldest look in the entirety of their marriage. And maybe she's not making this more than it should be, but less.

"Everything was executed perfectly the moment he stepped on the battlefield, even the fact that you were far away from him when he fell. It is not your fault, and it definitely was not his."

She watches his face transition slowly; sees every subtle emotion crossing his face as if she's reading from a detailed book. At first, there is no reaction. She waits on baited breath, yet he only stares for at least ten seconds straight. Then comes the lock of his jaw, the clench of his fists, and the confusion in his features.

She sees the anger later, but it's the betrayal in his eyes that makes her take a physical step back. Sakura can't help the goosebumps from manifesting along her spine, or the natural-born fear in her eyes as she looks into his own—his own that are confused, betrayed by this woman who had sworn to stand by him through everything, and is now telling him that his brother had been meticulously murdered, right in his face, as if it means nothing to her.

Sasuke's heart is beating wildly inside his chest because, why is she mocking him as such? He has offered to let her in, shared his time with her, tried to understand her, but this? This is beyond his scope of comprehension. He is tired, exhausted out of his mind, from all the traveling he has done in the last few days; and, up until now, he has firmly believed his brother to still be alive. Why is she telling him otherwise?

She gasps when he starts approaching her slowly. With every step forward, she takes one back, and soon enough her back meets the wall of their room.

"Planned, you say?" He chuckles, but it comes off as dry and completely humourless, and it's the most terrifying thing she has seen ever since her father's funeral.

It's that image of his pearly white teeth, his black eyes shining with something even darker, that forces her to remain silent. "These past two weeks, I've been searching the fucking country for answers, and they all point to my brother being alive."

Sasuke has her by the collar of her white dress, pinned and looming over her petite form. Maybe she ought to have explained further, faster. Maybe she ought to have delivered the news more delicately. Her husband is an impulsive man by nature, and she should have known better than to touch the subject of his brother in such an insensitive manner.

"I can not let this pass," he threatens, and she feels her throat constrict at the idea that this time he will punish her if she doesn't explain herself in more detail.

"Wait!" she exclaims, her eyes looking up into his own and her hands holding onto his own, wrapped tightly around the hem of her dress. "Please, let me explain."

Sasuke only stares her down, a pained look flickering in his gaze as he debates on whether to let her talk or not.

"It's not what you believe. He died by orders from the council."

Sasuke stays still for a moment, then clicks his tongue and shakes his head as if she has really lost it. "Orders?"

"The war-"

"What do you know of war? Who's been feeding you all this nonsense?"

"No one, and that is not the point," she lies, and opens her mouth to keep telling him because there are so, so many more things left unsaid, but he interrupts her again.

"Bullshit," he growls, hand leaving the hem of her dress and finding its way down his unruly locks and dirty, tired face.

Sakura feels like she can breathe again when he takes a few steps back and gives her the space she needs.

He looks at her again after he gathers his thoughts, as if giving her a second chance from the goodness deep in his heart, and she feels the small, painful drum of her chest at the stone cold look he gives her instead—because she knows it's her fault he's looking at her like this. "Who?"

Orochimaru, and then Kabuto, she wants to tell him. In the span of two weeks, she's learnt more about his family than he probably even knows, and she's not quite sure why she's the one to know firsthand and not him. Why had Orochimaru come to her and not him? He surely could have waited a day or two for Sasuke to be back and available for a chat, but he had exclusively come to see her and tell her and her only.

She had spent so many days drilling her head for answers she didn't have. She had spent so many days wondering if she should tell him about Orochimaru's visit, only to refuse to because of the risks that could entail.

Right now, right here, the costs don't outweigh the benefits of telling him everything. He has to know, whether for the good or the bad.

So she tells him—though she leaves Kabuto's influence out of the story—everything; tells him how Orochimaru had visited her a few weeks ago and then again earlier, before he returned. She doesn't want to lie, but Kabuto should stay out of the conversation, lest Sasuke takes his anger toward him rather too soon.

She tells him of his brother's death by the prestigious, oldest members in the council of Konoha. The old couple have been in the council ever since the Shogunate started with the Uchiha, and they had been the ones to order the murder of Uchiha Itachi in the midst of the war so as to better hide their tracks.

She tells him of the Uchiha massacre—not just a fire accident, like they all know it to be. It had been orders as well, by the council no less, and some lesser, unknown and probably hired man had lit the smallest of flames to start what had soon become the biggest mystery in the Uchiha family. By some miracle, Itachi had made it out of the mansion with his little brother, and the threats hadn't, and will not, stop pouring until both of them are six feet under.

She tells him the nation has been plotting, ever-so-slowly, to rid themselves of the Uchiha Shogunate, this system that has brought war and peace all the same for years ever since the corrupt Danzō.

She tells him because, sooner or later, it will be his funeral she'll be attending. There are many conspiring clans against him, and so many more that stand by him, and yet, this will to overthrow his centuries-old government has been well-planned for months, maybe years, and she tells him because she can't risk losing him due to her irrational fears and lack of courage.

By the time she's done telling him everything, they're both sitting on the bed side by side. By the time she's done talking, he lifts his head from looking at the floor and fixes his gaze on her own, worried eyes.

She expects him to lash out, destroy the room, summon every Daimyō in the country, or walk out on her whilst calling her all kinds of names.

But he doesn't.

Instead, he stares at her and looks away with something in his gaze; this spark in his eyes that only tells her he knows something she doesn't.

The room is quiet, and she bites her lower lip in anticipation of what he might do, or not do.

"What is it?" She inquires, wanting to know what's plaguing his mind and why he's so uncharacteristically silent after all that she's told him.

When he only shakes his head and stands, she can only call after him.

"Sasuke-kun?"

"It's nothing," he mutters.

She watches as he calmly walks to the door as if in some kind of trance, and she can do nothing when he decides to simply, slowly leave the room.

.

.

.

At night, as they lie next to each other at arm's length, she hears him move in her sleep. She feels his restlessness like she feels the tired ache in her body, and all she wants to do is close her eyes and resume her sleep, but then she almost—somehow—feels him open his eyes, and the sleep leaves her in a second.

She turns on the bed until she's on her back, and opens her eyes to stare at the dark ceiling with him. It's a few minutes before he speaks, and she catches the words even if they are low and in between.

"My first wife's name was Karin," he confesses, affirming her suspicions from the start.

He doesn't go into the details of their three-year marriage or talk more than he needs to, but his sincerity and bluntness only make her breath catch in her throat, palms sweaty under the covers and gasp threatening to come out.

"She was very loud and overtly affectionate, and carried my son for the last six months of our marriage," he mumbles, but she catches his every word in the quiet of their room, almost wishing she hadn't.

Before she can even begin to feel any kind of pain at the realisation that he had planned to have a baby with his first wife but not with her, she hears him sigh deeply and fall silent, like he's lost in his memories, like he doesn't have the energy to speak again.

She waits for him, but when he doesn't speak for five minutes straight, she takes the risk and breaks the silence herself.

"How did she lose the baby?"

She means no harm, but she genuinely wants to know. She wonders, in the more rational and logical part of her brain, that if Sasuke is telling her about his first wife after all that has happened today, it must be because something is bothering him. It must be because it's important.

He replies immediately, without a threat of remorse or emotion; it's just a plain, bland sentence, even if she deconstructs the sentence after it's spoken and understands the meaning behind them.

"She lost it for no apparent reason, and took her life a few days later," he explains, voice direct but eyes hard on the ceiling. "With my sword."

Time seems to stop still for the nth time in the day. And for the longest second in history, she can only hear the words ringing in her ears like a broken record; the meaning behind them, the memories she had tried to bury, the fact that his panic back then, even when they hadn't known each other that deeply, makes sense now. He hadn't been thinking of her back then. He had been thinking of her.

He had been thinking of history repeating itself. He had lost the baby. He had watched his wife dead in his room. It makes sense; it all makes so much fucking sense that she almost chokes on the irony of her situation.

Sakura audibly gasps and turns on her side when she's sure he's nothing left to say about it. She looks at his profile on the other side of the bed, almost not visible in the darkness around them, and feels like he's miles away.

"But now," he confides, "I am certain it was for a reason. Things in the nation were rocky back then. If what Orochimaru's saying is true, then losing the baby was planned as well."

She frowns as she thinks the possibility of this, and watches as he lifts a hand and scratches at his eyes.

"How? Food poisoning would have killed her too," she comments. "Unless..."

"Unless?"

"Unless herbs for that sole purpose had been infused with her tea."

She goes through the names in her head: pennyroyal, mugwort, parsley... The list could go on and on. There were many, many herbs that could induce miscarriage in certain times of the pregnancy.

It may make sense, and they may be compromised, but it doesn't mean much. This was many years ago, and she's not Karin. She's Sakura, and she'll die for him if she has to, because that's what she's been taught and that's what she wants to do.

_"You should know children are not part of my plans," he murmurs, not looking at her. "Not yet."_

The memory makes her cry even more.

When Sasuke doesn't answer, she moves closer to him on the bed, closer until she reaches his side, and holds her weight up with her elbow so as to look down at his face, her other hand on his chest; on his heart.

He looks at her, at her green eyes that seem to glow in the dark with hope, and at the small smile she tries to give him.

"We can fix this," she says, though it sounds like an empty promise. "Promise me you won't go to him? There is no need when we already know enough of the danger we're exposed to. We can fix this."

"How?"

He doesn't answer her question. But when she doesn't know how to answer his either, he only reaches up to her face with one hand, and wipes at the wetness that keeps sliding down her cheeks silently.

He's gone the next morning.


	10. Chapter 10

Her husband is pragmatic; practical and no-nonsense. He leads with his country in mind, not taking the risk of endangering even the smallest of commodities and always thinking through a more logical approach— _never_ with his heart.

He's a rational man; shrewd and perceptive. He looks at all the facts and categorises them before making a decision, truly delving himself in the matters at hand—sorting out what's urgent, important, or expendable in the shortest possible amount of time.

Strong, clever, and handsome, he's everything and nothing like Sakura had always wondered her future husband would be.

It's all about balance, she thinks. It's all about the highs and lows, and the equilibrium between them. It's about Sakura being the calm and he the storm; it's all about Sasuke being a cold-hearted, observant leader and she the warm, subdued companion. It's black and white, yet it's also too complex for such extremes.

She doesn't hate it. She doesn't despise her husband, or the arranged marriage she has been thrown into in spite of her initial denial. After all, there is nothing she can do, and she certainly has been taught _not_ to do much other than to please him. She doesn't hate the life she's meant to live and the man she's meant to follow. She already has had enough time with herself to make peace with these things.

Uchiha Sasuke is her husband, and she has learnt to live with his kinds of upside downs, his quirks and difficult traits, in the course of their marriage. She has learnt to cope with his impenetrable stares, his little smirks, his deafening silence, his unreachable personality, the hard armour he wears even when he's bare and under her, and many, many more peculiarities that take form everyday in their too-big space of a house.

Their four-year anniversary is not spent celebrating, much like with the three prior years. Unlike those, though, they surely had not been as emotionally and physically close as they are now; previous years had been spent barely talking, barely touching. Unlike those peaceful years, though, they are now on the verge of a public riot and the overthrow of a perfectly handcrafted government.

Their four-year anniversary is spent as the early signs of spring come, the snow receding back into the earth and the flowers awakening slowly from their sleep. She doesn't remember the exact date of their wedding—mostly because she has been adamant at forgetting it since the start—but she remembers the flowers and the birds and the rainy days and her birthday, so she has always related her marriage with the spring.

Sakura's at the foot of the bed and Sasuke's slumbering in the early, early morning, before the sun has come up.

She stares at the bamboo-covered floor, the wet ends of her long hair dripping onto the richly decorated floors and the slightly tall and regal mattress, not finding it in herself to stand and grab another towel—other than the one she already has wrapped around her body, covering just enough of her bottom to sit on the bed without wetting the material more than she already has.

The night before replays in her head like a broken mantra, the words drilling themselves in her skull with enough force to grant her the start of a headache. Despite her early bath full of oils and relaxing fragrances, the magnitude and significance of her husband's words is enough to make her head hurt—the idea of someone named _Karin_ carrying his son, the soft touch of his fingertips as he'd wiped her tears, and all the truthful words she'd had to spill in front of him are more than enough.

She looks behind her, casting a glance at the man beneath the silk sheets, eyes closed and arm resting above his disheveled locks of black hair.

She sighs and stands after a few more minutes, moving toward their only bedroom window and closing the curtains so as to hide the early sunlight from his slumbering form; she hesitates sliding the paper-thin door of the window closed as well. The first light of the day peaks from under the horizon, and she contemplates hiding herself behind the curtains to watch the array of colours dance. So she sits on the windowsill, leans her back to the small space in the wall and bends her knees so that her feet can fit in the comforting crevice of the window.

There is a thin but effective barrier between Sasuke and herself now, one which she hadn't known she needed. Though the man is sleeping and unaware of her strange behaviour, she feels like she can collect her thoughts better this way.

She stays there for enough time to watch the sun come out in its entirety and the warm colours of the sunrise disappear against her gaze. They go from blue, to pink, to orange, to yellow, and to some red here and there. Somehow, it creates a pretty painting of colours, all mixed up but still noticeable enough to be taken apart one by one.

She wishes, for the first time in many months, that she still had her painting supplies so she could capture this moment on canvas. Such a fleeting moment, starting before anyone can notice and gone after it's too late. Her life, bland and monotonous, has been filled with sunrises like the one in front of her, and yet none of them are ever the same.

She wishes but, then again, she's never really found it in herself to paint something other than simple birds, back when she even had the inspiration for that.

From this high up the castle, she can almost see the life that resides over the stone walls surrounding her home. She can almost see the busy streets and the citizens trying to grab hold of the freshest of fruits and vegetables, the imported fish from the East, always trying to be the first ones to buy them. Almost.

By the time she pushes curtains imported from the West aside and stands from the windowsill, her body is entirely dry and Sasuke is awake.

He stares at her without any clear, distinct emotion on his face, but with the tranquil and calm resemblance of someone who has not slept enough. He faces the window, one arm under his pillow and the other extended over the edge of the bed. The white, gold-rimmed blanket that covers him barely reaches the hem of his loose trousers, but he doesn't make the effort of pulling it up.

She doesn't want to think about how much time he's been staring at her silhouette from behind the curtains, but the thought still crosses through her mind. And all the pretty colours and thoughts of the life she remembers outside these walls are not enough to keep her mind from drifting someplace other than Sasuke. Not for long, at least.

She's rooted to the spot as she watches him sit and yawn before he looks at her again, turning his head slightly to the left, though he doesn't say a word—not that she's expecting any.

Her husband is silent most of the time, after all, almost waiting for others to do the talking for him. She doesn't mind this as much, she knows, for she likes to talk to begin with, even if it's mostly a one-sided conversation; no one can really stay silent forever, thankfully.

He's silent in other ways as well.

It's in the quiet way in which he trains, his over-polished sword moving swiftly through the air in his tranquil methods. Always serene, concentrated, and observant, cutting the air as he strikes. Except for the time when he had just heard the proposition of his brother being alive and not long dead, he's always trained with slow, steady, and careful movements.

It's in the way in which he eats, reads, and stays locked in his office. It's in the way he gives his guards one look and they're set into action, somehow knowing exactly what to do. It's the way he wants to communicate without words, finding solace in the serenity of a cold morning or a warm night, watching the landscape or hearing the crickets sing.

It's in the way in which he looks at her, and she doesn't know what do to with herself. With just one look, she feels her body freeze and burn, mind spiralling into a nothingness she has known since the start of their marriage.

She doesn't despise this marriage. She doesn't despise Sasuke. When he looks at her without any words, ever since the beginning and even now four years later, she feels sucked into his black, black eyes, his hooded stare, the purse of his thin lips and the frown of his brow, like the sea is attracted to the moon.

She stops herself before she can continue this train of thought any further.

Sakura mentally shakes her head and walks across the room to her dresser, opening a drawer and taking out a brush. Her hair is almost completely dry by now, but she still needs to somehow comb it, if not for the sole purpose of not having to speak to him now. She would not find her voice between all the sounds in her head still ringing.

When that's done, she doesn't spare him a glance as she walks across the room and slides open one of the spaces in the wall.

She remembers her small house back when she was small and unaware of the future, how most of her every-day necessities were mostly done in one room. She used to have one sliding door in the wall for clothes and another one for accessories, though these two were shared with the entire family, like most of the other hidden compartments. She watches now as her clothes are lined one by one in front of her, and as a small hallway lets her walk inside a few spaces. The clothes seem endless; not chosen by her and not necessarily in her style, but still worn all the same. Sometimes, details as tiny as these remind her of who she was before, and who she is now.

She takes a few steps inside and drops the towel around her body. She chooses a plain, navy blue kosode with lines of white running along the borders, but she doesn't bother to add all the extra layers women of her status are supposed to wear. She doesn't leave the castle anyway, so she seldom has to dress as formally.

Sasuke's eyes follow her across the room, into the space where all her fine garments reside, and as she bares herself to him. He blinks as though this is a produce of the sleep he still craves in his system, but the image, though rather dark from the dim space where she stands, doesn't go away. His sharp eyes still make out her pale skin and soft curves, and he gives her back one last glance before he feels his blood rushing in a specific direction, one which makes him uncharacteristically lie back down on the soft mattress of their bed. He slings one arm over his eyes and the other over his bare stomach.

The sound the bedsheets make brings her to pause her small hands from adjusting the robe on her body, and she looks outside of the space in the wall, out to where she can still see Sasuke's side of the bed. The sight elicits a small, curious frown to her face.

Sasuke _never_ goes back to sleep. It's one thing to leave in the middle of the night—for whatever reason—and come back to bed early in the morning. But doing the same thing twice? Waking up twice and still going back to sleep, even after the sunrise? Not a very common thing for Sasuke to do, not since she has known him.

This is the only reason why, as soon as she ties the white sash—finely decorated with flower-like patterns of blue—around her midsection and fixes her long sleeves, she turns around and walks slowly toward the bed, careful to not startle him. With the confidence she shouldn't possess, she sits right next to his chest, on the small space between his body and the edge of the mattress—surprisingly, as soon as she does, he shifts his body slightly so she can be more comfortable.

Sakura watches as his scar-framed chest rises and falls slowly, the marked skin slightly more tan than she remembers from the last time she had the opportunity to even notice such a small thing. A few seconds later, his arm drops from his face to the bed, granting her access to his sleep-rimmed features.

And he looks so at peace, so carefree, so unlike she ever sees him. She can never see this side of him at night, in the few occasions when his dreams don't turn into nightmares. There is not enough light at night, and he typically sleeps with his back facing her, so she doesn't waste the opportunity to engrave every soft ridge of his face and frown-less features into her memory now.

In a moment of courage, she lifts her hand and moves her thumb over his defined cheek. Soft to the touch, in spite of all his years of heartbreak and warfare, and radiating warmth. She touches him lightly, but it's enough to make him open his eyes with a flutter of his long eyelashes.

It's not that she _wants_ to talk to him, but she knows that the night before could have been maybe a little too much for him. All that information, all the explanations about some things that contradict everything that he believes in, may have impacted him more than they would both expect. For any other lesser person, it certainly would have been too much. Sasuke is human, even if he acts with the poise and superiority of a God sometimes, so she doesn't expect much less from him either.

A look of confusion crosses his features at the unexpected touch before she feels him relax again, adjusting to the light of the morning shining from behind her body. She expects him to grab her wrist and move away from her to the other side of the bed, but he doesn't. He just stares, and she doesn't know which is worse; him rejecting her touch or him looking at her like there's nothing else in the world, like there's no one out there trying to plot his downfall.

Sakura lifts her hand for a moment as his eyes connect with hers, but moves her palm against his cheek almost immediately after. She slides away stray hairs from his forehead and line of vision as delicately as she can; as if he's going to break in any second, which, ironically, is the last thing she would expect from him at the moment.

With a shaky breath, she speaks against the song of birds in the background for the first time that morning.

"How did you sleep?" She asks, though she doesn't receive an answer. At first, she waits for him to clear his throat and answer her harmless question, but he only really stares at her from where he lies. His tired eyes trail from the naked skin of her thigh as her dress rides up with the motion of sitting carelessly beside him, up her simple attire, and to each imperfection of her face. What he wants to find, she doesn't know.

"I woke up to shower, and you weren't here," she murmurs, low as if to not scare him away. The birds outside are the only response she gets for a few seconds, so she speaks again against the odds. "Where were you?"

"I could not find any sleep," he finally lets out, the roughness of his voice vibrating in her ears from the otherwise large and empty room. "I trained until I felt exhausted enough to come back."

Sakura frowns, but for the wrong reasons. It's not because exerting himself beyond what could be considered normal is not something she'd recommend, but because she knows the exact time he left and came back, and he had certainly _not_ taken a bath. An incredulous look crosses her face before she looks him up and down.

"Did you go to sleep like this? After training for hours?"

Sasuke mimics her frown, brows drawing together and lips pursing. For a second, he almost looks like a child.

"What are you implying?" He asks, talking normally when whispering will not get his point across. "This is also my bed, no matter the circumstances."

She only shakes her head at his honest answer, and keeps caressing his cheek with the utmost care, even if it's a sweaty, dirty cheek. She'll just have to order a maid to clean the bedsheets after he leaves the room—not that she'd ever tell him this, of course.

With a sigh at his eyes still roaming her face, she shifts the conversation toward her previous concerns and chooses to look at his cheek instead.

"When I woke up and didn't see you next to me..." She pauses, gauging his reaction from under blonde bangs and blonde eyelashes. "After everything we talked about yesterday, I thought you had done something reckless; something thoughtless, really."

 _I was scared_ , she wants to say, _I was scared you had left me._

She takes a breath and parts her lips to explain herself further when he does the unimaginable, the unspeakable. Sasuke does the exact opposite from what she'd ever, ever imagine; not in a million years would she think he would do such thing. He _laughs_.

He lets out a deep, low chuckle against her palm, and a few more after that, exposing his perfect teeth to her disbelieving eyes. The lines around his eyes wrinkle, the corners of his lips stay lifted even after he ends his sudden burst of laughter, and his eyes blink away the shine of joy to them for a few seconds.

She stares, mouth agape and eyebrows up, and she voices her surprise without being in the present. She feels detached from herself and this room, as if she's looking at him but replaying the image from someone else's eyes.

"You," she exclaims, moving her hand away from his face in surprise and placing it on her lap. "You just... You just _laughed_."

The small upside turn of his mouth remains in place even after she shows her stupefaction. He looks into her eyes with something other than stoicism; something other than _just_ a look.

"Why?" She asks, if only to stop him from looking at her anymore.

Sasuke shakes his head and shifts his gaze, as she had hoped, toward the closed window on his left. His voice holds some mirth, some amusement to the words when he speaks.

"First you call me dirty, then you call me reckless. Will your next insult be directed toward my intellect?" It's Sakura's turn to stare, mouth still open in astonishment. "I am your superior by several years, Sakura."

"That's not it! I didn't," she stumbles over the rushed words, "I did not mean to-"

"Are you also raising your voice at me?"

Sakura's blood leaves her body in a second.

"No! My lord-"

But the look her gives her when he turns his head toward her has him telling her another story. Somehow, she recognises signs of laughter in his gaze, and she can almost hear the teasing in his words now.

For the second time in only a matter of minutes, he makes her mouth drop. The fact that Sasuke can smile, laugh, and joke around—even if in his own way—only brings a sense of discomfort in her being. Has she ever, really, smiled at him with her eyes like he is doing at her now?

"You also know how to _joke_?"

She hears him scoff at her question, ready to retort with something even more sour. His facial features scream of betrayal at her accusation and she can't help but smile back, even if it's just for a moment, even if her gaze doesn't show more than meets the eye.

It's the smallest of acts, but it's worth it as she watches his reaction. She audibly grins at his sour expression and he falls back into silence; his frown leaves, and she watches as he visibly swallows.

"You are full of surprises today, huh."

He moves his gaze up to her own, up into her green, rare eyes, and remembers how fragile this moment really is.

Everything suddenly changes before her eyes.

Like the sound of glass breaking, the spell is broken, and she sees as his frown and downward tilt of his lips return; watches as he breaks eye contact, somber expression in place. She wonders if just now he has realised everything that is wrong with their conversation.

Talking with Sasuke is never easy, especially because she has only just recently started to understand his subtle reactions. But talking to him now, hearing his hoarse chuckles, and sharing a moment of light banter and knowing looks has never been easier.

Now that moment suspended in time shatters, and in turn all she's left with are the memories of last night visibly dancing in his eyes. It makes her fingers itch with the need to touch him, comfort him, and make him forget once again. His sleep-ridden features are now more alert, more aware of the situation, and she can only watch as he sits up once again.

If only she could make him forget; make them forget everything that is wrong with their lives. If they could only just forget about all the ugly truths and the pretty lies, they could share more quiet mornings and small smiles and tender touches.

But they can't, and she can only watch as he sits next to her on the edge of the bed, both elbows on his knees and face in his hands. His fingers move through his hair more than once, an empty look crossing through his features and making her sigh against a recollection that seems too distant now.

In a last effort to fix all that is broken, she places a hand on his back and moves it in circles, something she only hopes can soothe him.

"Would you like me to get the bath ready? They just brought in new oils from the West," she tells him, and it's true. The oils she had used this morning had been part of the last shipment of Western goods, ever since Sasuke ended the trade of goods in Konoha and most of Fire country. "You should try them, come on."

She places a hand on his own, locked in his hair, and he tenses up at the touch. With a level of care she hadn't known he could possess, he grabs hold of her wrist and moves her hand away slowly, placing it back on her lap.

There is a sense of exhaustion that returns to his mind and body as the truth of the situation finally rests upon his shoulders.

With one last pleading look for time, he stands and walks to the bathroom. He closes the door behind him with a resolute sound, one that lets her know she's not invited. He needs time to process things, and she can only grant him that and much more, if only he would ask.

.

.

.

Sasuke can't think.

He showers in warm, calming waters, but they do nothing to soothe the impending worries etched on his brain. If anything, he feels even more restless. He trains under the harsh sun of noon, yet what he only accomplishes is a bruised knuckle and a worn down sword. He somehow finds it in himself to eat and take a nap, but not does he ever stop thinking about the invisible options he has to solve all of his problems.

His brother. His clan's fall. His life and Sakura's against the edge of a knife. His name being able to move on. His country, his army of Samurai, not prospering.

Contacting Orochimaru now would be too much of a bold move, especially since he doesn't know if it could all be a trap on his part. Only when he's sure about the consequences, he will take the next step toward the infamous warlord.

Meeting Konoha's council and its two eldest couple would be much more of a controversial move; even more so because these are always in the public's eye. And in order to learn more about his clan's demise, he needs to look at the problem from another angle, from other eyes. More objective, less biased eyes.

As night falls and Sakura sleeps beside him on the spacious bed, he gives up this self-tortorous treatment he's put forth upon himself, and lets his mind and body relax on the mattress. Tomorrow is a new day. Tomorrow, he will find the answers he so seeks.

He has advisors to _advise_ him, after all, so he decides to take this approach when his mind gets too fogged up to think clearly.

He tells Shikamaru first, and then Shino. Rock Lee is his strongest and most reliable Samurai in the entirety of his army, so he tells him as well. As captain of Konoha's division and only a few ranks below Sasuke himself, it's only the natural choice.

It's only three people and it's on separate occasions, but he'd rather not share the information to anyone other than his most trusted warriors.

Each one of them gives him different feedback, respectful of his status and boundaries, but still honest in their opinions. It's all in his best interest, and he has not any particular ideas about what do to, so he takes whatever he can get.

Shikamaru thinks it through the most, as expected of him. In the end, he tells him the best thing to do is gather small groups of spies. These should dig deep into the source of whoever is spreading the rumours of his brother being alive, his system and his wife being threatened, and the possibility of the clan elders—the council, in particular—approving the massacre of his family so many years ago.

Shino stays quiet most of the time, but he suggests a visit to the Emperor to sort everything out in more legal terms. Maybe ask about the decision to send men to burn down the Uchiha complex, even if Naruto would most likely have no idea about this anyway.

Lee passionately promises to scout the outskirts of the village with his fellow comrades, as captain of Sasuke's army in Konoha, as well as add more guards outside the walls of the castle day and night. It would triple the people he already has stationed here and there.

Sasuke takes in all of the proposals, turns them around a thousand ways in his head, and decides to do all of them in the end. At this point in time, he can't afford the risk of endangering his life or Sakura's— _much_ less Sakura's, he thinks—and the country's safety.

As Shogun, he efficiently arranges everything in two days, and by the third, everything is set into motion. Hidden from every wandering eye, his spies roam the village, his Samurai look for clues anywhere their trained ears can reach, and Sasuke heads to the Emperor's palace one warm morning.

.

.

.

Sakura visits Kabuto's cottage after a week.

Other than the small sounds of life from inside its walls, the place looks exactly as she'd last seen it—when he'd told her everything Orochimaru had said, and she'd rushed to tell Sasuke not a moment later. Looking back on it, this is the longest period of time that she has remained apart from her studies ever since she started learning from him, even if it is just a mere week.

Sasuke, ever since that morning they'd shared together, has been running around the castle and its outskirts, planning this and that; things that she doesn't ask about, and things that he doesn't let her on anyway. Respecting his privacy has always been a special ability of hers, so she's walked away from every of his peculiar days in his office or about the place—alone, or with more than ten people trailing behind him.

In any case, she stays in her room or out in the gardens, but she never walks the rocky path she knows too well, if only to not appear as disinterested in her husband's busy schedule. It's a tricky concept to understand, yet she knows it has to be done to fill out her role as a dutiful, devoted wife.

After a week, her husband leaves the castle in the morning, and goes somewhere she doesn't have the least idea about.

She stands in front of Kabuto's small house because she knows it's fine to do so. She knows her husband's away, and she knows that she has no idea about what is going on in his head. It's only natural that she goes back to her old schedule, now that there is nothing to do but wait for some insight from his side.

She knocks on the door just because it has been a few days, and she doesn't want to intrude or disrupt his privacy.

She hears some shuffling before it stops, and then the muted footsteps on carpet walking toward the door.

He opens it and looks down at her form, eyes widening for a second before he bows his head down. She gives him a small, dismissive nod, and he stands straight right after.

"Yakushi Kabuto, it has been awhile," she murmurs, a small smile coming to life on her lips as she looks up at him.

"Uchiha Sakura, I thought I would never see you again," he responds. He takes one step back and motions her in with one hand. "My lady."

Thankful, she gives him a nod and enters, making sure to close the door as she does so.

She thinks she sees something behind the trees in the distance, right before she closes the wooden door.

"I have been inspecting the snakes' venom all these days in your absence," she hears a voice beside her, and turns to face Kabuto as he speaks.

"Did you find anything interesting?"

When Kabuto places a hand on the small of her back, she frowns. Not because he shouldn't even touch her to begin with, but because she doesn't so much as flinch. This man is the only form of contact she has, excepting the sporadic interactions with Sasuke, and she shouldn't be surprised that she's _not_ surprised he touches her with such familiarity.

It is brief, though, and he only leads her to one of his desks before his hand goes back to his side.

"Not necessarily, but," he says, opening a jar with a few drops of fluid still inside, "I'm afraid I used up all the venom left."

" _All_ of it? What exactly did you do?"

Kabuto looks at her surprised expression. He moves from her back to her side, standing beside her as he gestures to the mess of bottles, heaters, jars, and flasks all over the table with one hand. Sakura looks over the burnt sample of venom in a flask, wrinkling her nose at the faint smell that still lingers in the air around them.

"Would you like to look for more snakes now? I am positive I can make this work, if only I keep trying."

Sakura mimics his smile, her lips expanding even further when he finishes the weirdly-worded question, though she refuses the idea of walking under the sun with the risk of getting bitten by a venomous, scaly animal. She has done that more than enough times already, she thinks.

"If you were anyone else, I would assume you're exposing me to snakes on purpose," she says, and smiles as her eyes look outside the window of his home. She wants to add to her comment, but the silence from his part only makes her rephrase her wording.

"I don't think I am dressed for that," she comments instead, watching as his eyes give her body a dismissive glance before he clears his throat and looks away. "Maybe you can teach me about..."

She pauses in between the right words, stepping away from the desk full of metal and plastic and moving toward the bookshelves at the end of the room.

Each shelf is filled with jars and books of endless curiosities and species, some even containing strange, small and dry animals inside.

Sakura rotates the jars around so as to read over the symbols on a piece of paper, stuck with adhesive for the impression of a label. He used to have them bare of titles, she recalls, but Sakura has been learning little by little in the short span of time, and she can't say this added incentive doesn't help.

She reads over the descriptive yet simple names, one by one until she can find something she doesn't already know about. Anything, really, so she doesn't have to find a _snake_ of all things outside on the grass—at least, not in the fine silks she wears.

Arrowroot powder, cut astragalus, vanilla slices, sugar cane sample, salt, an extensive collection of different ferns, imported Echinacea, Lily of the Desert extract, pennyroyal, mugwort, cotton root bark, oregano, parsley...

She stops.

She reads over the last five jars, stopping at the moment she reaches pennyroyal, up until she reaches parsley.

_Pennyroyal, mugwort, cotton root bark, parsley._

She goes over the names in her head, looking at each jar like she's seeing them for the first time and not for the nth since she started studying under the man.

Kabuto, who has respected and trusted and taught her all that she knows of plants and humans, is watching disinterested as she thinks her suggestion through. It's only a matter of time before he notices she puts a bit more of her attention in front of a specific section of the bookshelf. He crosses his arms and leans back on the desk closest to her.

"Have you decided?"

Sakura feels her head spin as her suspicions grow, though she doesn't necessarily want to be suspicious of the only person who she talks to in the castle. She feels her blood run cold in her veins, freezing as her heart stops inside her chest, when she turns the idea over in her head anyway. Over and over, until the twirling makes no sense anymore.

But it's _right_ there. It's in front of her eyes, and there's no denying what she sees is true when she keeps blinking and the jars don't seem to disappear. The labels and the contents inside speak to her as she stares and each of the four condiments, one by one, until she has to swallow her perplexity when he asks her the simplest of questions and she can't answer.

"Sakura? What's wrong?"

All the jars are full in its contents—all, she notices, but the pennyroyal oil. Oil which she knows can be lethal in the right amounts, and has no purpose other than to induce a miscarriage or relieve pain. Oil that has been used for thousands of years to safely abort unwanted babies, and that can give insufferable pains in the lower back, front, and uterus days after. Oil that can induce miscarriages and pain.

And it's almost _empty_.

Sakura reaches for the small jar before she can think about it, and turns with enough force to stand face to chest with Kabuto, him towering over her with concern in his eyes.

Beofre he can even blink or she can move away, she has to contain her hand when she only wants to throw the object at his face, demanding answers. Sakura shows him the small jar with oil inside, only filled a bit less than halfway through, and watches as his face gives away nothing out of the ordinary.

"What is it?" He asks, appearing as genuinely confused as she can only hope he is.

"This is almost empty. You should make more oil," she answers, turning and putting the container back on the shelf as if her chest is not currently hammering inside her. "Why do you even have this? I don't think it is very useful."

"It is," is all he says, before he walks toward the tiny hallway that leads to his bedroom—or what she guesses is his bedroom—without much of a care. "I will be right back. Choose something by the time I return."

Sakura stares at the jar with deadly pennyroyal inside long after he's gone.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my loves, sorry that I took so long but school had me plenty busy to write. I hope you enjoy this chapter as it drops a major bomb into the story’s development. I’m already writing Chapter 12 and I’ll publish it very soon, so stay tuned for that!

Sasuke's chest heaves up and down while he's laying on the soft grass, the cloudy blue sky above him. The ground feels cold to his bare back despite the warmer weather that has been threatening the Leaf village these past few days, and it's with relief that he sighs.

His blond, childhood friend sits against the bark of a tree, taking a break under its shade a few steps behind him and panting just as hard. It has been, at least, one hour since they'd started throwing punches and expert kicks here and there. Of course, none of them lethal, but serious enough to promise several bruises on their bodies in a few hours.

It's how it's always been, and it's how it'll always be with them.

Their sporadic training sessions live up to their name; few and in between, and yet intense and extreme. He usually doesn't visit because he wants to wear himself out until he can't have a single, coherent thought, yet that is what always ends up happening anyway. Not that he's objecting.

He'd visited Naruto to let him know about the Council's orders, his brother, and the possible threat to Sakura. After all of that, he would have told him his plan of action to fix it all, and he'd planned it all in his head in case of his friend overreacting, as he is prone to do.

While he tries to recover down on the grass with arms spread out and legs apart, he realises he hasn't even told him the first thing on his list. They had been so carried away by the enticing promise of a fight that he'd completely forgotten.

As he looks up at the clouds hiding the dying sun of the late afternoon, he shouldn't be surprised everything in his body aches. At times like these, the pain is welcome, soaked in by his bones at the distraction from everything else that is wrong in his life; everything that needs his fixing; everything that needs salvation.

He hadn't asked to train, but training with Naruto is the truest form of communication for them. He feels it deep within his soul—feels it in the way he momentarily forgets he may be under an impending war again—how the bruises and sweat rolling down his skin make him feel numb. It's a welcoming feeling that transcends all logic and anxiety printed in his skull; all these intrusive thoughts swimming in his mind ever since Sakura told him the truth about his nation are now gone, replaced by the nothingness of a moment suspended in time.

The clouds never stop moving, though, and eventually the glare of the sun touches his face once again. It's not as strong as before, but it still makes him grimace and groan, and this tranquil moment full of peace and quiet is broken by the sudden return of the cold, harsh truth.

The weak rays of sunlight signal the end of the day, and they remind him of all he has to say to the man a few steps behind him.

He feels the start of a headache.

With a sigh that leaves him feeling empty, he sits and gets up, the faint ache in his muscles finally catching up to him as he stretches his arms over his head.

Naruto does the same, and soon enough they're walking back to his grand Palace, well hidden in the depths of the forest. _Somehow_ well hidden, especially since its main colour is of a vibrant red—something straight from the beloved Uzumaki clan. However, he manages to remain concealed from the world at Sasuke's expense.

Naruto doesn't live in Konoha—that's where the Shogun lives, and there is no need for him to face danger and threats in the most crowded village of Fire when he can enjoy a life of festivals and celebration in another part of the country, carefree and politics-free alike—but the climate is just the same. Instead, he hides in the middle of a forest a few kilometres South of Konoha, and stands as more of an icon than an actual Emperor. Few have seen him. Few had had the honour.

 _Sasuke'_ s the one who makes the decisions in the nation here—not that he would ever tell him about his lack of importance, even though he knows he's well aware of that.

The trek to the regal, old household is not one without the crossing of rivers and hiking of hills decorated with rocks and flora alike.

Sasuke feels his body ache with every step he takes, but he tells himself that, at least, the damage only resides in his muscles and not on his skin. Otherwise, he would have to go back home with a hundred cuts, dried blood along his body, and on the verge of a war he had already managed to stop a few years back. He has no desire to stop it again, for it would have to start to begin with; and while it was fine for him to sport some bruises along his body before the news, it wouldn't be prudent to show up battered and bruised to his castle, only for the lesser of his workers to spread rumours of weakness from his part. If anyone saw him so unstable, it would affect him and his country in ways he doesn't want to think about.

He looks to his left and watches as his friend grimaces under the last lights of the day, his tan complexion seemingly golden under the colours. And Sasuke thinks it's time, in that moment of vulnerability and quiet, to at least introduce the idea. To tell him now, while they're both still worn out and tired, could prove to Sasuke's advantage. He knows it's the perfect moment to start the conversation he so has been avoiding. He stops and turns, opens his mouth to spill out the words he so craves to leave his body at last.

Naruto does the exact same thing at the exact same time.

He doesn't expect it, and his mouth closes while Naruto's opens in a foolish, dreamy grin.

"So, I've been meaning to tell you," he announces, the biggest smile plastered on his face and hands on the nape of his neck as he walks. Sasuke can only do so much but stare and nod, still surprised about his—for _once_ —impeccable timing.

What comes next isn't what he expects, and it makes him tear his gaze away from the palace they're approaching almost immediately. He looks at his best friend and his sweaty, long and unkempt bangs stick to the side of his face with the force of the movement. Once again, he finds himself stunned into silence.

"My wife is with child," he says, and when Sasuke doesn't immediately react, the blond frowns thick, light eyebrows at him and scoffs, "Hinata, my wife. Remember?"

"Of course I remember, idiot," he retorts, kicking a pebble and taking a deep breath as he moves the words around in his head. "With child, you say?"

"Yes! We found out yesterday through good word of Shizune," he exclaims, the words tumbling out of his lips in excitement. "Can you believe it? I'll be a father again!"

They married as soon as Naruto turnt seventeen and she nineteen years of age. Their firstborns, two twin daughters, have already been married young to warlords and have been living away for some years now. It's been almost twenty years since their births. Nobody had expected the Uzumaki matriarch would bear the Emperor more offspring after so long, though nothing is ever to be expected with Naruto.

This is why it takes him so long to give him a soft, reserved smile, pat his back, and bring him in for the kind of hug he hates to receive yet loves to give—an arm hooked around his shoulders in a headlock, his fist messing up the soft trendils of hair atop his head in quick succession.

"Quit it, bastard!" He yells from the uncomfortable position. "You're supposed to be happy for me!"

When he finally lets go and Naruto gives him an exasperated, betrayed look, Sasuke can't do much but look to the front and resume his walking, his lips pursed so as to hide his amusement.

"I am, although I thought you told me your wife didn't want to have any more children," he comments, turning to see how his friend tries to catch up with him between the trees and foliage surrounding them.

"She didn't!"

Sasuke gives him an empty glance out of the corner of his eye, and watches as the blond struggles to find his words in a rare moment of silence and contemplation.

"But the girls left barely two years ago, and it's been hard on her," he admits, voice quieter and steps to match upon the mud. "They visit from time to time, but it's not the same. I guess you could say we get lonely."

As soon as he says it, he swallows and looks at Sasuke. A look of mortification crosses his features when he knows he will call him out for it; admitting he's lonely is not something he would have said within his best friend's ears if he knew how to hold his tongue better. He curses under his breath at Sasuke's coughs from up ahead.

"No shit," he snorts. "You're practically in the middle of nowhere. You should _thank_ me for my visits because, otherwise, you would have gone mad at this rate."

This time, Sasuke expects the rock thrown at his back, and dodges without having to look behind him. What he doesn't expect is the slap on his back and the devilish grin his friend gives him as he catches up to him and pulls him closer.

"It's your turn, eh? You better make me an uncle already!"

Sasuke shakes his head, and sighs a breath of relief when he finally spots the palace in the distance.

"You know better than anyone that those are not my plans," he says. "Not now, at least."

"But-"

"Naruto," he warns, giving him a look. He should notice; look into it and know exactly why he doesn't want children at the moment. He should remember the _incident_. He should, and he does. Naruto notices because he knows he couldn't possibly forget, yet, for reasons that escape him, he does not stop.

"Come on, Sasuke! I can't truly be the only one having children! We are already in our thirties, you know?" Naruto adds, then shakes his head. "Time is ticking."

"It is," he dryly responds, and wishes he would just leave it at that. However, knowing Naruto, he obviously has more to say— _way_ more.

"Does Sakura-chan _not_ want to bear your children? Are you even intimate since you married? Considering it's _you_ we're talking about, I bet you haven't so much as _touched_ her in all these years. How many years has it _been_ anyway? Three? Four, already? Damn it, bastard, but she's gorgeous! Are you legally blind?"

Sasuke feels his jaw tighten, and hopes that the blond will see a butterfly and get distracted enough so as to forget his destructive train of thought and, ultimately, stop talking. To his luck, he only persists beside Sasuke's thining patience.

"You need to step up your game! I want our children to play together, you know? Now that my wife is bearing my child and all." He punches the air with his fist, and smiles at the possibilies like the fool he is. "How _awesome_ would that be? I know things didn't go as planned with Karin, but it's been more than a decade and-"

"That's _enough_ , idiot," he mutters, his throat closing up slowly and his brows drawing in together, eyes narrowed on the grand building only a few steps ahead now.

How dare he accuse him of not being intimate with his _wife_? Of not seeing the natural, otherworldly beauty she possesses? Of not having children, laying the seed upon her womb? How dare he, out of all people, mention Karin? Him, his childhood friend, his closest confidante, the one who had to comfort him at the loss of a son when he was barely twenty years of age, not really reaching that high. Just a kid, losing a kid, losing his first wife, in the midst of a civil war.

It makes his blood boil under his veins.

And yet, through it all, he knows that it _has_ been more than a decade since her death, since his _son's_ death. Sakura has shown to want children of their own, but he hasn't, which has led them to be _intimate_ , as Naruto gently puts it, only a couple of times in the four years they have been married.

It dares bother him a little, he thinks, just how much truth he finds in his friend's words.

"I do not want to hear any more of this nonsense."

"Oh come on! I was just messing with you, Sasuke. It would just make me happy, that's all."

Naruto shrugs his shoulders in exaggerated disappointment, and Sasuke can only sigh and look at him through the corner of his eye, the fight leaving his body as fast as it had come.

"I came here to tell you something important about our nation, not to discuss my love life, or how I handle it."

As the seconds pass and they keep walking, he notices that something is out of the norm; not quite right. Naruto is quiet— _far_ too quiet, actually, to be considered a normal occurence with him. When Sasuke looks, he's wagging his eyebrows at him in a fashion he knows too well.

"Oh, so you _could_ say you _love_ her, then? Please, _do_ tell me more."

When Sasuke shoves him, his boisterous laughter resounds from the trees, making the birds residing there take flight at the sudden disturbance. Suddenly, everything between them is the same again.

"Let us celebrate the great news you bring with you," Sasuke interrupts the blond's laughter, making him gradually stop. "I fear mine are not worth celebrating much, my friend."

Naruto ignores his dark, doomed comment, and opts for naming the different kinds of new liquor he has acquired over the last few weeks since they'd last shared a bottle of alcohol.

Sasuke only sees the approaching castle, and replays the events Sakura had told him that fateful day, wishing nothing more than to forget them, but having to relive them until they have drunk themselves to oblivion. Usually, that's when his tongue is the most loose.

He thinks about Sakura and the idea of seeing her with child; with his child, _their_ child. Her soft smile and her green, green eyes looking at him as she caresses her lower abdomen; as she glows with life inside of her. Would his son have eyes as green as hers? Would he sport the same light, pastel hair, the colour of fine sand? Would he disobey as much as she does, display her own fierce character at every inappropriate moment, and have an inexplicable fear of animals? Would he enjoy the gentle art of medicine, but serve alongside his father in battle when needed be?

His clan has been known to only look one certain way: with dark hair and dark eyes and pale skin. It's only so long before he realises these questions are just mere fantasy, and not actually something that could happen.

Sasuke wonders, yet it's futile to do so. On the verge of an impending war he's trying to avoid, there's no time for matters like these. Naruto may be able to spend his days procreating, eating and sleeping all he wants, but Sasuke doesn't have that luxury. He has made his mind up.

They enter through the tall, impending gates of his home, vibrant red on the outside and a softer red on the inside. They pass by the staircase and walk toward the dining room, only to turn left right before that. They enter a hallway and go inside the room furthest in the back. A simple enough room, with a few cushions on the floor, a table in the middle, and the two walls facing the gardens open so as to gaze upon the beauty of one of the many wonders of this house.

Naruto takes the news lightly, as expected from a man so infuriatingly optimistic, yet not as expected from the point of view of his closest confidante. The war took a hard toil on him the first time, especially since the first driving force of the war—the event that started it in the first place—was the assassination of the previous, beloved Emperor: Uzumaki Minato. A charismatic, vibrant person who only had the best in mind for the country and, ultimately, Naruto's father, who died only hours after he was born.

Back then, before Danzō and before the Uchiha Shogunate, the Emperor took care of things. Day and night, he was the driving force of the nation of Fire. Most villagers were happy, but peace can only reign for so long in a divided state, and one man left to govern an entire nation was no easy feat. Considering there were no warlords back then, Sasuke's surprised he even lasted for so many years as Emperor. A beloved, trusting Emperor, yet not strong enough to answer one nation's demands of union and better resources.

In the end, it was Danzō who almost made the nation of Fire fall to ruins, succumbing to disorderly orders and broken armies of untrained soldiers. Fighting a battle he was not meant to win, the Uchiha took the opportunity, and ruled over.

Up until now, but hopefully for many more years to come.

Naruto takes the news better than expected, agrees to his precautionary plans of action suggested by his advisors, and offers him another bottle of wine. He only stays over the night because he falls asleep right there, in that room with his best friend and the drowned knowledge of his pending responsibilities, after the third shared bottle.

.

.

.

After much convincing from his part over the days, Sakura finds herself—at last, but not really—with two vials full of snake venom in her hands. Forehead shiny with beads of sweat from staying under the sun from the early morning until the early afternoon, she sits next to her mentor on her favourite bench. Thankfully, the tree over them fully hides the unforgiving rays of sunlight. Thankfully, the light breeze coming from around them makes her skin feel less sticky—not ladylike at all, as her mother would say.

It's definitely not ladylike when she grabs the hem of her loose shirt and swipes it across her forehead to rid herself of excess perspiration. With a bit of luck, nobody ever sees it.

Kabuto looks at the flasks in her hands and extends his hands so as to take them, and she gladly hands them over. Regardless of how much she hates meddling in the field in search of small venomous snakes, it's either that or the lack of chores she has to complete inside the castle. In a way, this is the only form of entertainment she gets on a daily basis.

If that were to go away, what would she be left with? There are no more hobbies for her, not anymore. Painting is boring to her nowadays, reading has become too repetitive, sewing is mundane if she has no one to gift the garments to, and riding one of Sasuke's horses is out of the picture, period. Every one of the castle's maids looks at her with hesitance, always close enough to let her know what clothes to wear and at what time to eat, but far enough to never really speak more than the necessary.

If that were to go away, would she rely more on Sasuke? Would she ask him to spend his days with her, if only to not succumb to eternal madness, trapped in his castle, with no one else to talk to? Would she beg and cry for attention? Would she ask to ride his scary, big horses, even? Would it really come to that, in the end?

She doesn't want to think about it, but the possibility of Kabuto disappearing from her life is something she needs to get used to. She doesn't necessarily want her only form of entertainment, her source of varied medical knowledge, to walk out from her life just like that.

She knows that, if she were to talk to her husband about the half-empty pennyroyal oil flask and its implications, there's a high chance that she wouldn't see the healer again. Even at the mere mention of betrayal, of poisoning Karin and his firstborn, she doesn't know up to what lengths Sasuke would go. Even if Kabuto is not _actually_ guilty of anything related to the oil or to the woman's demise, she knows of Sasuke's impulsive personality all too well. Kabuto would not hear the end of it.

But she also can't stay quiet and suppress her doubts. She won't tell Sasuke—not for the moment, at least. She won't ask Kabuto directly—that would only prove to be a careless and thoughless mistake from her part.

But she can dance around the idea, and ask indirectly. Get the answers she needs, without asking the questions.

She looks to the side, slides her bangs behind her ear with one hand, and frowns with feigned curiosity at the man. He looks at her almost immediately.

"I was wondering..." She trails off, looking down at the ground below them and the few specks of dirt that have delved themselves in between her toes, the few sticking out from her sandals. "How long have you been the Uchiha clan's healer?"

Kabuto answers without a beat, as if he somehow had been expecting this exact question.

"For just over a decade, my lady."

Sakura thinks her words through for a few seconds, knowing full well that she could raise suspicions with the wrong set of words, or with the wrong tone.

"I see," she voices, nodding and leaning back into the backrest of the wooden bench. "Could I share with you something rather personal? In confidence?"

If his ears perk up or his eyes light up at that, she doesn't turn to see. It's all about appearing nonchalant and uninterested, and she only looks up at the sky to add to her genuine interest.

"Yes, of course, my lady. I would never tell a soul of your disclosure," he says. And he sounds so soft, so convincing, so unable to hurt a soul, that she almost dismisses her plan altogether.

Almost.

"Then, I want to tell you of a woman my husband disclosed to me a few weeks past. His first wife, Karin, with whom he married relatively young. She passed after she lost her unborn child."

At this, she spares the man beside her a glance, and watches as he gives nothing away. From his posture to his eyes, he doesn't show he has been affected by anything in her carefully crafted words.

"I was wondering, since you have been here for so long, if you knew her. Could you tell me about her?"

Kabuto nods slowly and sighs, looking away from her eyes after a second.

"Yes, my lord's first wife. I barely got to know her, it was a brief thing. She passed a few weeks after I became the official healer of the clan."

Sakura hums in agreement, a faraway look on her face as she speaks, her voice small and her hands on her lap in fists.

"Pray tell, what was she like?"

When she receives no answer for a few, long seconds, she looks at Kabuto. This time, she notices his subtle squirm and the uncomfortable look on his face, if not for his tightly pursed lips. Sakura smiles reassuringly, or so she hopes.

"I mean no harm," she says. "Even as my husband talked about her once, you must already know how secretive he can be, and I could not bother him with such trivial questions. I am merely curious, you see."

His expression changes drastically, suddenly, and he offers her an understanding smile with a chuckle for added relief before he speaks.

"Ah, in that case, I hope I can speak candidly," he says, and at her nod, he continues. "As I said, I met her later into their marriage. I suppose it was a rather quiet affair, but she did behave much differently from you."

At this, she raises an eyebrow. "How so?"

"Well, she would always follow my lord around everywhere he went. Around the castle, outside the castle, and even some of his battles."

Sakura blinks when she thinks she hears incorrectly, but by the calm resemblance he's showing as he talks, this may be nothing but the truth and only the truth. A confused look crosses her features, and it's not because the man is speaking the truth, but because the idea that Sasuke first wife had so much freedom only gives her stomach a turn.

Not only was she apparently allowed outside the castle's walls, but she was also allowed to join him in his battles? Did she learn how to fight? Did she ride alongside him, helping him kill the enemy like his equal? The thought is almost strong enough to bring her breakfast up her throat and out of her mouth.

"She always seemed enthusiastic, and cared for my lord deeply. Though, in confidence, I must say the late Itachi-sama never took a liking to her."

This makes her stomach settle, if only for a while more, as she listens to the words of reassurance coming from Kabuto. It makes her snap out of her thoughts, and it reminds her of the true purpose of this whole conversation. Clearing her throat, she nods at all the information and looks at him.

"From a medical perspective, what do you think was the cause of her miscarriage?"

If before he was quiet and passive, showing a cold facade that gave nothing away, now she can clearly sees how he looks away and hears how he swallows forcefully. If not nervous, then scared.

"Well, I was the one who treated her during the complications of her pregnancy. For one, she would always deny the rest required for her fragile body," he murmurs, eyes looking at a point on the ground, deep in thought. As if, maybe, he's reliving a real, genuine memory. "The weight of providing the first son in that generation of the Uchiha clan rested on her shoulders, and that added to the stress from the ongoing civil war got to her, unfortunately, in the form of a miscarriage."

"The stress, you say?"

Sakura thinks his words through, and she can't deny there's a certain level of logic in them. His story makes sense from end to finish and, for a moment, she finds it hard to find a fault in the tale.

And then, a few seconds later, she finds _every_ single fault in his logic. The stress of the civil war led her to lose a baby? What stress? All Uchiha Karin had to do at six months in the pregnancy was probably lie down and count the days. She may have had the opportunity to go with Sasuke to several, different battles, but Sakura highly doubts Sasuke would have been careless enough to let her fight whilst carrying his son in the womb; with a noticeable, ever-growing stomach.

No, the stress wasn't it. She doesn't know of any complications during her pregnancy, or any bad habits either. And yet, her husband had told her the story just detailed enough for her to notice that, back then so many years ago, the miscarriage had been a complete and utter surprise; a thing out of the blue; something unexpected. If there had been any complications during the pregnancy, he would have mentioned it, at least.

And as much as Kabuto's explanations seem to carry the truth in them, there's something that doesn't sit right in her stomach. Something is off, but she can't quite put a pin on _what_ , exactly, is making her suspicious that this might not be the whole truth.

In any case, she has got out of him more than ever expected, and that is a victory in itself. If Kabuto's telling or not telling the truth, she doesn't know. More than that, if Kabuto has got anything to do with Karin's miscarriage or her clan's demise, she only has to be patient. She will find out, one way or the other, and she will help her husband and her country first and foremost, even if she has to doubt the person closest to her at the moment.

Just then, a guard comes rushing out from the door of the castle, and immediately bows to Sakura as soon as he reaches their seated forms.

"My lady, my deepest apologies, but I'm afraid Yakushi-san has been summoned," he says, the words coming out faster than she can catch them. With a raised eyebrow, she blinks away the confusion and looks at Kabuto for less than a second.

She looks at the guard and clears her throat. "Summoned? By whom?"

The nameless guard, with his blue and red and white helmet on, hiding everything in his face but his eyes, doesn't meet her gaze in learnt respect as he speaks.

"By my lord, he requests Yakushi Kabuto's presence at the moment," he states, watching as Kabuto gets up and hands the vials to Sakura. "Follow me."

"Should I not fetch my medical equipment? Is that not why he requires my services?" Kabuto asks, pointing to his small cottage, all the way in the distance, past the expanse of grass and flowers and forest.

The guard only turns and shakes his head. "No services necessary, only you."

Sakura stands as they leave, watching even after they have entered the castle and probably gone up the stairs to her husband's office.

The vials in her hands need to be dropped off at Kabuto's hut, she knows, for she has sweated and stood under the sun and risked her life trying to get the venom with the man. There's no point in thinking over what could be happening in that office right now, so she starts walking toward the little house without thinking it twice.

.

.

.

The guard leads him up the stairs to the second floor, as expected. They turn to the left and turn again to the right in order to enter a long hallway, and they walk until the last door at the end, as expected. Kabuto hasn't been inside the castle too many times, but he's made sure to map it from corner to corner the few times he has. Knowing Sasuke's main office is the door at the end of the hall, it surprises him when the guard stops before they reach it, and slides open a door to the right of the hallway, not quite far but not quite close to his office. _This_ he doesn't expect.

The guard blocks his view of the place, but he leaves soon enough, and Kabuto's left by the door not a second later. The room is simple and small, with a table in the middle and two cushions between the table so as to sit on the floor. Nothing too extravagant, he thinks. There are red flowers on a vase and incense burning on another table. Sasuke sits on one cushion, looking at him as he inspects the room as quickly as he can. Behind Sasuke, there's a large, tall window that looks over the back of the castle, the gardens, and part of the forest.

Kabuto bows, and closes the door behind him.

"Kabuto, I am glad you could make it," Sasuke comments, motioning to the seat in front of him. "Please, sit."

Kabuto knows he didn't have any other choice but to show up, but he still nods and does as told. He sits, clears his throat, and looks at the table so as to not raise his gaze up at his superior. Just then, a maid opens the door with a set of tea in her hands, and starts setting everything up on the table.

"My lord, how may I serve you on this day?" He asks, eyes following the maid's movements as she serves them tea.

Sasuke waits until she's done, and only when she's done sliding the door closed behind her does he speak.

"I remember the last healer," he starts. "When I was a child, before the tragedy of my clan, I still remember. A kind and old man, from what I can recall, and very loved by our people."

Kabuto takes a sip of his tea, and notices Sasuke's hands remain hidden beneath all his layers of cloth, and his long, finely crafted sleeves stay still on his lap. If he's not sharing this moment with him, it can only mean this meeting is a little more serious than anticipated.

Sasuke watches his every move behind his long bangs, and thinks his next words through.

"In all the time that you have been here, have I ever come to you for assistance?"

He leaves the cup back on the table and shakes his head.

"No, my lord. You have never suffered major wounds from any battles fought. Only soldiers have come to my aid," he explains.

When Sasuke nods and finally reaches for his own cup, Kabuto releases the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Sasuke takes a sip and leaves it again, frowning ever so slightly at the sweetness in the herbal tea. He never picks it up again.

"Only soldiers, yes, but I have not fought with my army in months, even years," he pauses, and waits until he sees Kabuto nod, agreeing even though he is clearly intrigued as to where this is leading. "Then, answer me this. How have you been keeping busy, if there is no one to heal?"

Kabuto stays quiet for a few seconds, and smiles without meeting his eyes before he speaks.

"Why, by collecting new species of plants and studying them. I have also started my own research on an antidote for snake venom with-"

"With?"

Kabuto stops himself, and curses himself silently for this slip-up. A careless, inattentive mistake, and one he knows Sasuke's aware of. He knows Sasuke knows the name he was about to utter. It's a mistake that he knows, and as Kabuto lifts up his eyes and spares his superior a quick glance, all he finds is a confirmation to his suspicions.

Sasuke, for a moment as he looks at Kabuto and analyses his words, touches the hilt of his hidden sword under all the layers of clothing.

"You are allowed outside the castle as you please, and you are provided a house of your own within the castle's perimeter for added protection. Would you say you have everything you need?"

Kabuto nods. _Of course_ he nods; he would be a complete fool to make another blatant mistake in front of him. "Yes, my lord. I am treated fairly and accordingly under your rule, and I greatly appreciate that. May I ask the reason behind this sudden interest in my well-being?"

At this, Sasuke's hand leaves the sword, and he sighs at the question he had been waiting for since the beginning of this meeting.

"I see you are confused as to why I called you here. Very well," he says, and stands from the floor, walking toward the window slowly and deliberately.

He stops right in front, looking out at something Kabuto can't see from his angle, something that is only the main reason for this summoning altogether. Sasuke looks down, and watches as Sakura walks in the distance toward the castle, arms crossed and eyes downcast. Her hair is in a ponytail behind her, and her step is lighter with only thin, long pants and a shirt to cover her small body.

He has watched her on the field with Kabuto the entire morning, so there's no need to wonder why she's not wearing her usual, delicate dresses, or why she doesn't have her hair down and flowing as she usually does when she's around him. Sasuke follows her step as he talks, the words leaving his lips with newfound strength.

"You are not to teach my wife anything else, starting with the end of this meeting. Unless it's because of a medical emergency, you are not to see her again," he states, losing track of Sakura as she enters the building. "The next time I hear she is with you, I shall find a healer of my own choosing."

As he says it, he thinks back at all the times he should have done this; sooner, way sooner than just now.

_"What an entertainment my healer must be."_

_"You mustn't think that."_

_"Though I wish I had spent the night with you instead," she says, moving the razor up the side of his neck, signaling she's almost done with her work. "Yakushi is not my husband, after all."_

" _Is it possible something else has caught your attention?"_

_"He is not my husband. You are."_

He gives the older man a chance to process the news, and turns around when he thinks it has been enough. Apart from the noticeable tenseness to his shoulders, there is nothing that can give away a change in his mood at what he has said.

"Yes, my lord. What shall I do if she approaches me instead?"

He walks back to the table, close enough to almost stand over the man but far enough so as to watch him. Looking down his nose at the silver-haired man with disinterest on his face, he watches as he doesn't cower, or shrink in himself, or shake as so many have before him.

"Make sure she doesn't."

.

.

.

Kabuto doesn't see Sakura on the way to his cottage. The sun is soon going to be hiding under the horizon, and he must be quick. With some ink and a paper, he takes three minutes to write an encrypted, short letter. He closes it securely, and sends it to the village with the royal messenger of the castle, Deidara, hoping only that it reaches its destination on time.

.

.

.

It's only three days later when he's inside his small, homely cottage that he sees a shadow outside. It's late at night, and not even the moon above him is enough to illuminate the gardens around him, but he knows not to be scared. He has gone through this enough times to know what it is.

He unlocks and opens the door without waiting for a knock, and smiles as a hooded figure appears at his front, wasting no time in ushering him inside so as to lock the door again behind him.

When everything is set and quiet, he walks around the room and turns off each and every candle because, even though the castle is a couple of minutes away from this remote place in the hill, he'd rather not risk anything—anything else, that is.

"Do you know how many more guards Sasuke has positioned around the castle?"

Kabuto turns to him and clicks his tongue.

"Don't you think I know that? This couldn't wait, regardless."

"If only they weren't stationed right outside the tunnel now, I wouldn't have a problem."

Orochimaru takes off his hood, and frees his long hair of his low ponytail at the same time he sits on one of Kabuto's stools, not really sparing a glance at all the burnt, used and abused herbs and equipment on the table behind him. "Well?" He asks, looking at him with a raised, delicate eyebrow.

Kabuto sits on the stool next to him and turns to face him.

"Something has happened," he starts. "A few days ago, Sasuke threatened me. He says I can't see Sakura anymore, and if he sees I do then I'll have to leave."

There's a pause, and a moment of complete silence after that. Eventually, Orochimaru nods and runs a hand down his hair.

"Interesting," he lets out, and if he hadn't turned off all the candles, he would be looking at one of his crooked, long smiles. He gets to catch the dark chuckle that escapes him, though. "What have you done to make little Sasuke-kun jealous? Are you... seeing her behind my back?"

"It is not like _that_. Things have been tense ever since we let them know the truth," he explains, sighing in exasperation when his partner doesn't take it as seriously as he had hoped. "He's also being extremely cautious about the safety of his wife, which is why he's not letting me—or anyone—near her. I also believe she's suspicious about our plan from a conversation about Uchiha Karin."

"Our plan? Karin?" After a few seconds thinking it over, Orochimaru's eyes lose their amusing gleam. "We knew how risky the situation could get when we decided to uncover the truth. This is nothing we can't handle."

"How are we going to handle it, then?"

"By changing our strategy; by adapting to this change," he explains. "You say you mustn't see Sakura anymore? We will stand down for now."

Stand down, he says, when standing next to Sakura had been a pivotal part of their plan. He must be next to her, or everything crumbles, which is why he's more than confused as to what he's proposing should be the solution.

"But, Orochimaru-sama, the only way the tea works is by administering it bi-weekly. If I have no contact with her, I can't let _our_ contact inside the castle know, and there would be no way for me to-"

"She will not be taking it from now on," Orochimaru says, nonchalantly, as if this means nothing. As if this didn't contradict what they have been working on for years now, or go against everything they have been believing was right.

He leans back until his back touches the wall, and closes his eyes for a second of contemplative peace, and all Kabuto can do is look on. Look at his master, mentor, and partner, and wonder what could possibly be going through his mind. In the end, he has no other choice but to voice the obvious problem in just not administering the tea anymore.

"She'll bear him a child, master."

Orochimaru opens his eyes, then, and looks at him like a mother to an insolent, uncomprehending child.

"I am well aware. By not drinking it, any possibility of creating a child is, once again, restored. You best pray the withdrawal will not harm her, Kabuto. At this point in time, she _needs_ to grow life inside of her."

"Why? Why now, and not before? I thought our plan entailed something else."

"We did need her infertile, but things have changed now, as you have explained to me," he leans forward in his seat, talking no more than a whisper in the small space between them. "It is in our best interest that she bears him a son, my dear. Especially now that she may already have some doubts about her own fertility."

Kabuto, finally starting to understand where this is going, feels a smile creeping on his face as he leans closer, finding logic in his friend's words.

"After all, what best time to start our operation than this one? This child will be his weakness, mark my words."


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and thank you for everyone’s reviews! I’m going to post here some answers to reviewers from my ffnet account, just because you guys might have them too.
> 
> By now Sakura is 19 and Sasuke's 30, though since they are currently in the early spring it'll soon be Sakura's 20th birthday, and then Sasuke's 31st. In the last chapter I said that Hinata had been 19 and Naruto 17 when they married, and the twins they had were born almost twenty years from now. Say it's been 16 years, which makes them 13-14 when they married, which makes Naruto around 33 years old, which is only 3 years more than Sasuke. I don't think it's that much of a difference. In all honesty, all the ages are switched and all over the place in the fanfic, so it doesn't bother me that much. I tried making it as historically accurate as possible, although no one's perfect even if I spend all day and night researching. Women, however, did marry young back then, so that Sakura was 15 and Sasuke 11 years older when they married shouldn't be that strange.
> 
> The same guest asked why Itachi didn't like Karin, and why Kabuto poisoned Karin during the pregnancy. Well, no, there's not really a reason and I'm not going to expand or make a big deal out of Itachi not liking Karin. Maybe it was because she was particularly obsessed with Sasuke, you could say, and Itachi never liked the constant following him around like a puppy. Go figure. I don't really care about their relationship back then and I'm not going to talk about it in the fanfic more than I have already because what I'm interested in is the focus on the baby's death and its implications; its connection to the things that are unfolding now in the story. So, don't worry about it too much. As with Kabuto, I'm only going to say that Orochimaru didn't realise a child could be a better weakness than a dead child and a suicidal wife lmao. JUST KIDDING. But I can't give too much away, just know that it will all be explained eventually.
> 
> To the guest who doesn't know what Sakura's hair color is anymore, let me tell you. Since this fanfic is set in a real, historical and mostly accurate time period, I decided that being born with pink hair is not really something realistic, you know. She has really light blonde hair, kinda sand-coloured (a bit lighter than Temari's). Though (as described in a previous chapter) when the early light hits it just right, it looks a soft pink which I've seen happen to some people in real life. Idk, I hope nobody's too mad about this.
> 
> This is the longest chapter to date, so let me know what you think :).
> 
> Enjoy!

Sakura remembers when she was younger, though the memories are only slightly blurry, her father's smile as he watched her handling a tinier version of his own sword. She remembers him leaning against the frame of their home's wood-covered engawa. Their back porch wasn't as big or as prestigious as the ones in the castle where she lives now, but it was home. It was his home; her home; their home. It was her mother braiding her long hair as they sat on the edge and talked, the water in the small pond making for background noise as she trained alongside her father, and the only place where she had ever seen her parents share a kiss, only once in the quiet of one afternoon.

She remembers all the times she tripped and fell and hurt herself, only to be reprimanded by her mother for opening her otherwise immaculate pale skin—suitors in the future wouldn't like scars on her body, she would remind her. But Sakura was always intrigued by the art of the sword, and would always go to her father behind Mebuki's back to keep perfecting her young skills. Women in the field of the Samurai only knew about fighting enough to defend their home, but not much else. There was a time when Sakura would spend days working and trying to learn everything; she wanted it _all_.

When her father died, the news brought down her enthusiasm for learning much more drastically. The training sessions stopped, and she buried her small, hand-crafted sword under several metres of dirt in her backyard one day, in a fit of rage and with tears blurring her vision. It's probably still there now, for no one but herself knew of that day.

Sakura still remembers, though, most of the days in which she learnt under her father's watchful gaze and boisterous, contagious laughter. She remembers as she kicks a pebble on the ground, walking in no definite direction but rather following the familiar sound of a sword cutting through the air up ahead.

She had been planning on going to Kabuto's cottage, and would normally surround the forest in order to get there faster, not go through it as she's doing now. Not only does this way take longer, it also is filled with a heavy air full of humidity, vines that can make her trip, and fertile, damp soil that could dirty her rather long dresses in a heartbeat. However, she hadn't been expecting her husband to be training so early in the morning—just like she hadn't been expecting his mere presence in the castle after going out for several meetings in the last two weeks.

That sound is unmistakable, and he's indeed training inside the large, overwhelmingly rich forest within the castle's walls.

So her mind takes her back as she gingerly walks through the foliage, her eyes looking down on the ground as she remembers every memory and every moment spent with her father, wearing a simple, over the knee, cotton-woven yukata in the heat of the early spring morning. Her geta dig into the dirt with every step she takes, and she wonders if she's going to have to throw them away as soon as she gets back to the castle—she hadn't picked tall ones this time, and the added weight of her body is making her soles get stuck from time to time in the wet soil.

As the sounds from her husband grow stronger, she knows she's nearing the place where he trains, and slows down her steps so as to not alert him in the middle of it, as she has done before. Because if she keeps surprising him while he's wielding his sword, she won't be so lucky one day.

It's only a few more minutes before she's met with the first glimpse of her husband through the trees in the distance, holding his polished chokutō in his left hand. As she nears him, she makes out the finer details. He's wearing black-coloured hakama, the wide pants a signature of his army of Samurai. His long-sleeved, black shirt is hanging from his obi, his chest exposed as he practices against the bark of a tree. This time, as with so many others she has seen, he moves with grace around the clearing of grass where he stands.

She takes a few more steps and stops two trees away from the clearing on which he stands.

His hair, now probably reaching past his shoulders and almost touching the middle of his back, is tied up in a messy bun with his bangs framing the sides of his face, and she wonders if it's time for her to tell him to get a haircut. Summer is approaching, and having all that hair during battle could only prove to be a hassle.

On the other hand, as she watches him take a break and reach for his canteen of water, only to lean down and pour it over his nape after he drinks enough, the hair length he has now does him no worse than any other. If only, it does him better than the one he had when she met him.

He straightens up again and throws the empty canteen to the side, and she wants to look away for a moment as he stretches. Not only is she invading his privacy, but she's close enough to notice the way the toned muscles in his abdomen flex and move with him, and it suddenly feels _wrong_ to just _stare_ like she is. Unabashedly, without shame, and it it's not _right_ for her to look at him this way. Even if he is her husband, she feels an inexplicable amount of heat pool up to her face, and takes a step back. As if in slow motion, her heightened senses catch the snap of a tree branch as her shoe touches the ground.

Sasuke stills.

She looks away and hides behind the thick bark of a tree only so as to control her raging, improper train of thoughts, and prays her husband couldn't have possibly heard her misshap.

Why did she even come to begin with? The memories of her father with a sword, teaching her the ways of the sword as all Samurai come to know, led her here, but she had been originally heading to Kabuto's house. What had she been expecting to find? Of course her husband was going to be here, in the forest he so loves training under the early rays of light. What had she thought she would do? Interrupt his training and say hi? Ask him how his meetings have gone? Ask him if they were actually going to war, and if his empire was about to fall at the snap of a finger? No. None of these could bring any good to the conversation or their relationship.

The last time she had seen him and talked to him, the conversation had ended with the realisation of something foreboding coming around the corner of their lives, and the quiet of their morning in bed had been broken. She doesn't want to keep doing that. So why, out of all places and times, had she come to him during his training? All the times she has done so it has ended in disaster—each and every one, without fail.

She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes only to open them a moment later as she makes up her mind. She has nothing to say to Sasuke, and there's nothing that could ever come out of it, so she decides to go back. If she walks back where she came from and rounds the forest as she usually does, she could get to Kabuto's house without Sasuke ever finding out of her silly mistake (or her ogling, for that matter).

Sakura sighs, and looks around the tree to see if Sasuke's back at it with the sword, unknowing of her panicked state or her presence.

When she looks behind her and toward the clearing, there's no one there.

A pang of anxiety hits her chest as she freezes, looking frantically for any sign of her husband where she had left him, only to find nothing more than the sound of birds and the silence of the forest. She looks left and right to no avail for a little under ten seconds before she gives up, knowing she's not going crazy and he is, in fact, not here anymore.

Alarmed, she turns around with the intent to walk away and follow her improvised plan before it's too late, only to find that Sasuke's already in front of her, amused eyebrow raised and sword hanging low from his hand. He's looking down at her from his height, less than a metre away, and it takes her by complete surprise.

She instinctively takes a step back, meeting the rough bark of the tree instantly.

"Sakura," he announces, as if this is his morning greeting to her.

She closes her eyes tight because, first of all, his proximity to her after she had been looking at him in a different light from what is the norm is not helping her in the least, and second of all, she closes her eyes to make him go away; somehow, and possibly not possible at all. But she tries, and she only opens her eyes and gives up trying to rid herself of his image once he calls her again, this time even closer as he takes a step.

And she hopes she looks unbothered and not nervous at all at being caught when she looks up at him, trying to blink her worried thoughts away.

"Sasuke-kun, good morning," she says, her voice not as wobbly as she had thought it would be, though still rough from disuse. "Were you training just now?"

He gives her a _look,_ and she can read it clearly. _Do you think of me as stupid?_ It says it all over his face before he speaks, and she doesn't blame him for thinking something like that at the moment. Obviously he had been training, but she can't let him know _she_ knows.

"What are you doing here?" He asks.

"Me?" She asks back, looking away and toward the trees around them, motioning with one hand to the flora decorating the expanse of the place. "I was just taking a morning stroll through the forest. It is very quiet at this hour, after all."

She thinks he buys it when she feels him take one step back, but she understands when she looks back at him. He has only taken a step back in order to look down at her attire and her shoes, all muddy and dirty from the soil. His scrutinizing, hard stare down her body only makes her feel self-conscious, and then he looks back up into her eyes and clicks his tongue in disapproval.

She wears a thin yukata, he notices, strapped closed by the help of a thin sash around her midsection. It's of a light pink, something fitting for someone like her, but not fitting enough for a place like this. _She's lying_.

"Poor choice of clothes for a walk through the forest," he points out. "Should I be concerned with your attendants?"

Sakura shakes her head adamantly; she doesn't need to drag the nice people who help her dress everyday into this.

"There is no need. I simply did not know I was to come here when I got dressed."

If he believes her, she can't tell. He just nods at her explanation before something like confusion crosses his face in succession.

"Why did you, then?"

"No specific reason, I suppose."

She wishes he drops the topic, but to her chagrin and surprise, he only keeps trying to unwrap the thin sheet draped around her lie—something peculiar for Sasuke to do; it's unlike him to prob in this manner, especially with her, which only catches her attention even more.

"Your footwear is nothing but garbage by now. Surely, you knew coming here would cause that to happen," he says, taking the step he had taken forward before once more. "Why did you come here?"

At a loss of words, she only looks up at him and hopes he will shake his head and choose to ignore her. In this moment, staring into his curious eyes, her mind is at a crossroad and she has nothing to say; nothing to come up with to excuse herself from the heat of his body; nothing to use so she can literally and figuratively sidestep this tense questionnaire and leave. So she stays quiet, but since this is the last thing he expects her to do, it only means he arrives at a rather odd—but rather true—conclusion.

"Were you..." He trails off, his eyebrows drawn toward the middle and his lips pursed. "Were you watching me?"

It's a strange and disturbed look the one that crosses Sasuke's face before it morphs into plain and utter amusement, with a hint of disbelief. And she's, apart from being caught red-handed, now also embarrassed at her actions. Although somewhat true, there is no need for him to know that.

"No! Not at all!" She exclaims, moving her hands in front of her from side to side, which only proves to be for nothing as she watches him sigh and put his sword away; safe and secured in the case attached to his thick obi.

She knows he will walk away now, if only from the steps he takes back and the turn of his head, and she has the sudden urge to reach and pull him back. But should she even keep him here? Should she let him go train again and forget this conversation ever happened?

She realises it would only make this just another one of the many, _many_ failed meetings she has had with him; the many failed attempts at maintaning a good, solid conversation with her husband of four years now. And for once, she would like to end it on a good note, no tears or lies or screams or disappointed looks. Just a smile, a look, and soft words being exchanged.

If she has to open up about her past and reveal to him the true reason of why she ended up in the forest, looking at him train for a good five minutes only to regret it and get caught a second later, then so be it. She's tired of doing otherwise, cowering, and letting him walk away.

With a few steps to catch up to him, she watches as he turns with the clear intent to leave, and touches his forearm. "Wait."

It's gentle, and the touch doesn't startle him or make him jump and grab her by the collar as he has done in the past, alarmed by the possibility of an intruder, and for this she is glad. He does stop, and she takes her hand away only because she notices how his shoulders tense up at the unexpected action.

He doesn't look back at her, but she thinks it's better this way just so she can collect her thoughts and speak without having to look into his black, indescribable stare.

"I came here because I heard you training. I heard the way you moved your sword against the trees, through the air, and it reminded me of something from my past."

There is a pause, and his shoulders relax a second later, his weight shifting from one leg to the other. "Of what?"

Sakura hesitates, but breathes out the words as soon as she hears him take a ridiculously long breath through the straight bridge of his nose.

"My father," she says, but now it's nothing louder than a murmur and she's no longer looking at Sasuke's broad shoulders, but at the ground. "He used to train me when I was younger. He wanted to teach me the art of the sword, but he passed away after a few months."

She has told him about her father's death during the war, of how he burnt until her mother could barely recognise him, so there's no need to say that again.

When he doesn't answer or give any thoughts to her story, she clears her throat and keeps talking—if anything, to fill in the suffocating silence around them.

"My mother never approved of me learning such things at a young age. I already knew the basics that every girl is taught, but I always wanted to learn more," she explains, finding her voice stable and her eyes dry, and wondering when exactly was the time when she stopped crying at the mention of her father. "I was on my way to Yakushi Kabuto's house, yet listening to you reminded me of my father. I guess I came here without even realising it."

Sakura takes a deep breath, and bows slightly even though he can't see her right now.

She has tried to mend and fix the situation, but he hasn't done much to help her in the process; maybe because he does not care, or because he has no idea there _is_ a problem with their dynamics.

In any case, trying any further would only tire her out and seek the shelter of her room in defeat.

"I'll be going now, then. I apologise for the trouble."

Sasuke turns and watches as she starts to walk away in the opposite direction of the castle. He wouldn't have grabbed her if she had headed to the confines of their home, but she hadn't. And he knows the path she will take after she apologises and walks away; he knows it quite well, which is why he can't help himself at her ignorance in the matter. She knows not of his new terms and conditions, so he will let her know this one time, and hope she doesn't cause a scene or object at the news—a long stretch, but a risk he's willing to take.

She takes two steps before she feels a pressure pulling her back. He's the one grabbing her arm this time, pulling her back with force and making a gasp come out of her throat at the sudden move from his part.

She tries to look at his face, but he has her in such a position that she can't look at all. Her arm is locked behind her—although he makes it so as to not hurt in the least, it's not particularly comfortable—and he's on her side, coming closer so as to almost _breath_ into her ear as he speaks.

"Listen to this for I will only say it once," he warns, the low timbre in his voice bringing goosebumps to her skin. "You have no business with Yakushi Kabuto anymore."

Sakura's snapped from her thoughts by this, something she hadn't expected at all, and the goosebumps leave her arms almost immediately.

No business with Kabuto anymore? What does that mean, and why is _he_ telling her?

Confusion turns into annoyance, into anger, into disbelief. Since when has this been established? And without so much as her say in the matter, to rub salt in the wound.

"My business with him does not concern you," she bites back without the same amount of venom in her tone, yet she still feels his grip on her tighten ever-so-slightly.

"Mind your _place_ , Sakura," he rasps out, and she feels how her arm rubs against his chest as he gets closer to keep her from struggling. "You are not to see him anymore, and that is final."

"On whose orders?" She asks, looking to the side but not managing to look up into his face. Still, she feels her blood boil at the audacity of this man. He has complete and utter control of her actions and they both know this, but he should also be more considerate and realise this is, in no possible way, a fair call. She speaks as if she can't stop the words. " _Yours_?"

Sasuke's grip loosens at that, and he stills beside her.

Not taking a single breath, she waits for him to react to what she's saying and answer her. Is this why he had been called a few days ago? Is this what Sasuke had told him, to stay away from her? To forbid him from seeing her like he is doing to her now. He hadn't seemed to have a problem in all the months she has been learning under Kabuto's teachings, apart from when she had planned for it to happen, so why now? Now, when she was _so close_ to finding out the truth about the oil, Karin, and everything that concerns his unborn child. It's all been for _him_ , not for her own amusement, and yet he forbids her from seeing Kabuto _now_ of all times.

Sakura doesn't bother struggling. She sighs and knows that he's still unmoving beside her, and she swallows all the questions she wants to ask and all that she wants to say solely for the sake of their marriage.

Sasuke has spoken. And as much as she isn't on the same page with his sporadic decision, she must adapt and silently agree.

"Please, let go," she whispers, and it's only a whisper, but he complies immediately.

And as soon as his hands let go, she turns around and faces him, looking up at him with betrayal in her eyes. She won't confront him, but she will display all that she's thinking through her eyes. All that rings in her head is why; why now? Why this? Why all of a sudden? Why, when she's so close to the truth? Why, when Kabuto is the only person she is relatively close to in the entirety of this immense, lonely castle?

All that rings in his head is why; why is she talking to him like this, looking at him with malice in her usually innocent, bright eyes? Why is she talking back, raising her voice at him in a way she has never done before? Why, when all he wants to do is protect her? Why, when he's her husband and she has told him she will devote her life to him until the end of time?

The look she gives him is enough to stun him into silence for a hundred years.

Is this connection between her and his healer really that strong? Is it really, then, just a professional relationship like she has told him before? He trusts her, and she would never lie to him like this, yet it makes him doubt with the uncertainty of her past actions.

In the chaos, he somehow finds his voice.

"There is nothing more to say," he breathes, watching as she shuts her mouth in resignation after she processes his command. "You will stand by any decision of mine."

Sakura doesn't want to disrespect her husband, not in the least and not in a million years. He has his faults here and there and she has acknowledged that, and she would never _ever_ disrespect him so blatantly to his face—but she's never really been given a good enough reason to. Not until now, at least, when he utterly goes over her head and breaches her trust, only to warn her and command her to stay quiet right after he _never_ tried to talk to her about it in the first place.

"Why?" She asks because it's all she wants to know. Out of all the questions swimming in her head, this is the only one she wants answered. If he could only give her that, she would calm down and forgive all this nonsense.

And he does, he tells her everything in one short sentence, true to himself, and hopes that this will be enough.

It's not. It never is.

"Why?" He emphasizes, shaking his head and looking away from her gaze for a moment, only to look back at those questioning eyes a second later. "Because I can't trust anyone anymore. Any person but me could be a danger to _you_ ; could be behind all this _bullshit_ , and I am not willing to risk it."

Sakura's left with her mouth open, astonished as to what has just happened.

It's as if, by some twisted work of faith, they can never have a normal, nice conversation that _doesn't_ end on a bad note.

"That's why," Sasuke finishes, reaching for the long sleeves of his shirt and pulling his arms through them once again, adjusting his obi so as to close the shirt correctly. He repeats the words he had told the man during the meeting he'd called a few days past. "Unless there is a medical emergency, you are not to visit him again."

Sakura knows this to be true, and she knows Sasuke has his best intentions in making this abrupt decision—but it is that: abrupt. _Too_ abrupt, and she has to voice out her concerns because he will never know what she really thinks if she doesn't—though it's with less anger and more understanding to her tone now.

"Sasuke, I appreciate you trying to protect me, but I do think this may be too extreme. Yakushi-san is the only person I interact with in this enormous castle, and sometimes you are gone for days at a time. I have learnt so much from his teachings, and I thought I would be doing that for longer."

Sasuke regards her for a long time before he talks, and it's with a much calmer but firmer tone that he does so, mimicking her own.

"I am sure all that he has taught you so far is enough. As for the rest, I will do my best to accommodate you in my schedule whenever possible."

In his schedule, as if she's just a burden he needs to take care of; another one of his chores and meetings to get over with; something to finish quickly in order to get other, more important things done in time.

She knows this is not what he means at heart, but it is what it sounds like, and so it is what she responds to in turn.

"Shall I make an appointment, then?"

She sees the way his jaw tightens as he bites down, watching as her eyes lose their child-like spark in a matter of seconds, but he otherwise ignores her rhetorical question.

"I will take a bath now," he announces, moving past her and walking away toward the castle not a second later. "Dress appropriately this time, and meet me by the stables at first light tomorrow."

.

.

.

Konoha's center is always filled with the sound of people moving about, vendors yelling to promote their products, and children playing on the busy streets without a care in the world. It's seldom quiet, not even at night.

Konoha, apart from having the Samurai, higher class, and Shogun stationed right in the thick of it, is a rather tranquil and unproblematic village. Here, where everything is controlled and overseen by the leader of the nation, there is barely any crime. A minor robbery here and there, and nothing else.

Resources are plentiful, the forests and rivers are endless, the ever-growing crops on the sides of town never cease their production, and the animals are bred and slaughtered as with in any other place (or more so). All in all, a prosperous society that is content with where they live and how they do so. Generally speaking, most villages in the nation of Fire carry with them no issues or fights, a high rate of crime, or anything that would bring down a nation or spark forth doubt in a leader.

Kabuto thinks this is the way it's supposed to be for his plans; where everything seems perfect and there is no possible forthcoming of what's to happen; where there are no signs anywhere about what is to come next.

It's just the way it's supposed to be.

Unfortunately, things don't always go this smoothly, and there are obstacles he needs to overcome in order to move forward. Things change, people adapt, the world keeps turning—it's just the order of things.

He knows this, so when he's walking down one of the more deserted, off-center streets of Konoha, he doesn't feel an ounce of remorse as he finds what he's been looking for since he went outside the castle with the excuse of getting more supplies.

He stops the familiar trek when he nears the small house enough to see an older woman arranging some flowers along the walkway to her abode. She finishes her task in less than ten seconds and, as soon as she turns around and sees him, she looks around the street to spot any unwanted onlookers.

Then, she ushers him inside her house like so many times before, sliding shut the door with a little too much force than necessary in her dainty fingers.

She turns to him and offers a nervous smile, shaky from her elder years.

"Yakushi-san, thank you for coming. You're right on time today," her sweet, tiny voice reaches his ears, and he only nods like the professional he is.

"I apologise if I took longer than anticipated. How is my patient feeling?" He asks, but he's already walking toward the child's room as is customary of him.

"He has been warm all over for at least two days. I followed your instructions but he doesn't seem to be getting better, and you were not coming so I did not know what to do and I-"

Yui, a frail and small woman in her late sixties, stops herself and takes a shaky, deep breath before she wipes the unspilled tears from her already watery eyes. Kabuto gives her a sympathetic smile and nods, understanding the importance of this specific meeting.

Haru, her six-year-old grandson, sleeps with several blankets over him on his bed when Kabuto enters the room. He approaches him and touches his neck, his forehead, takes the pulse of his heartbeat, and goes back to Yui's side. Haru's illness is rather internal, making his stomach sensitive and unable to process food like everyone else should, and sometimes these matters can be fragile.

"This is just a reaction to his delayed medication. Nothing to worry about, as long as he sticks to his strict regimen."

Yui doesn't look too convinced, but she still nods and watches as Kabuto takes out a rather large satchet tied around the sash at his waist. He hands it to her, but she only frowns at the difference in size from what he normally gives her.

"Excuse me, but this is rather big. Is he in need of a larger dosis?"

Kabuto shakes his head and adjusts his glasses, preparing for yells and upset shoves from the old lady soon enough.

"No, that is not the problem. I know your grandson's condition can only be treated—though not cured—with my exotic blend of herbs. This bag should last you a total of four weeks, instead of the usual two I give you," he explains, and sighs as if feeling deep sorrow. "I'm afraid I will not be able to visit any longer due to a change in plans. I advise you find a new healer who can recreate what only I could."

Yui stares at him for a long time during which her frown deepens. She shakes her head in confusion, looking from the satchet to him several times.

"Whatever is it you mean? What change in plans?" When he doesn't answer, she comes closer and grabs him by the collar of his cloak. Though smaller in size, her trembling fingers manage to yank him forward and shake him in her stupor. "Answer me boy!"

"Your daughter is no longer needed for her services at the castle. Taking care of her son while she's bound to work there constantly was only a favour in exchange of what I asked of her."

 _The tea_. Administering the tea to Sakura biweekly, though Yui doesn't—and will not—come to know, had been her daughter's job. But not anymore.

"This is my superior's decision. I am unable to do anything about it, so please understand."

If before she was on the brink of crying, now there is already snot running down her wrinkled nose at the news. News that bring doom with them. Without her daughter and his help, how could a small woman like this get any other help in this town? The only healer in town could never do what Kabuto has been accomplishing for years now.

But getting those herbs and making that antidote has cost him enough trips outside of Konoha, and he no longer has to employ his time on this task.

Yui reaches to shake him again by his cloak, but he swiftly moves away, gives one last look at the slumbering Haru, and walks out of the house and away from the place without another word.

He hears Yui's screams and cries down the street way after he has disappeared. Things change, people adapt, the world keeps turning—it's just the order of things.

.

.

.

When Sakura awakes from a restless night of sleep—or lack thereof—the first thing she takes note of is that Sasuke's not by her side on the bed. She rubs at her eyes and yawns as she sits by the edge of the bed. The second thing she realises is that the sun hasn't come out yet, and the sound of water coming from behind the closed door of the bathroom can only mean her husband is taking a bath.

Before she gets up and wakes fully, the last thing she realises is that Sasuke expects her to go to stables at the first light of the day, which is bound to happen in a few minutes.

Normally, she would take a bath right after her husband, but she doesn't see the point in doing so if she's going to be full of horse smell and grass by the time she's done with the animals.

She enters the wardrobe, looking through her clothes for something suitable to wear at the stables—not that she wishes to go, but it's either this or the rest of the day spent looking at the gardens, without much to do now that she's banned from talking to her mentor anymore. Her only decent set of pants have been completely ruined from the last time she was at the stables, and it's no wonder—her clothes are nothing but fine silk or delicate cotton. Her only other pants are still washing from the last time she was in the gardens with Kabuto.

With a thought, she turns and stares at the less finer, but stronger clothes her husband is set to wear. As Shogun, Samurai, and leader of an entire nation, the material of his fabrics is nothing less than striking; stunning, even. And it's stronger than hers, way stronger and way more adept for the horrors of wars. Rougher, and more suitable for the _stables_ than any of her delicate kosode, much less her yukata.

Yes, way more suitable indeed, she thinks, putting on a navy pair of his many hakama and a long-sleeved, white shirt as a top. As soon as she closes the shirt over her front with one of his thin obi, she stands in the middle of the closet as she hears the water moving in an adjacent room. It could only mean her husband is getting out of the bathtub, but she can't help but feel silly in this attire— _his_ attire, no less.

She takes off the obi around her waist and fixes the length of his long pants with her hands, gets out of the closet, and slides open one of the doors on the walls of their room. She opens one of her drawers, finding her pristine, organised sashes all placed inside. She settles for a red, relatively thick obi and ties the shirt closed with it around her midsection, going from the bottom of her breasts to the top of her bellybutton. At least with this on she doesn't feel as silly or out of place by the out-of-norm outfit she has chosen.

And that's how Sasuke finds her as he slides open the door of their bathroom and steps out, towel around his waist and long hair dripping down his back. His dark eyes find her figure almost immediately, making his hand hesitate on the door for a few seconds after that—for the few seconds he tries to take in this new update in the grand scheme of things. Sakura, dressed with his training clothes, tying one of her obi to her back. Sakura, with her short stature, somehow being able to wear his long and wide pants without cleaning the floor with them. Sakura, with navy pants, a white shirt, and a red sash, representing her clan by wearing its colours like she has seldom done before.

Sasuke takes a minute, walks past her, and enters the closet without a word.

"I'm ready," she suddenly says, moving her fingers through her straight hair so as to accommodate it a little. "I will be waiting by the stables, if you do not mind."

If he takes note of the more formal tone she's talking to him with, she can't tell. All she's met with is silence, so she takes it as her cue to leave.

Outside, the sky is still cloudless and the sun is still hiding behind the horizon, just like it felt it would in the early morning.

Sakura walks toward the stables and ignores the glances her maids give her, the horrified stares they share between each other when they think she's not looking. It's just an outfit, she repeats in her head as she exits the castle, _it's just an outfit_.

As she walks outside through the back door, she takes her time navigating around the gardens toward the stables. If Kabuto's house is past the forest and to the left, the stables are right before the forest and to the right. There is just no way for her to pay him a visit now, not when Sasuke's almost done getting ready and has explicitly told her not to barely a day before.

It's not as he thinks.

Sakura doesn't want to _see_ Kabuto, not really. But she does want to know more about the past, and about what he may or may not be planning. Or about what someone else he knows may be planning. Or about what _really_ happened to Sasuke's first wife by the end of her pregnancy.

More importantly, she wants to check if the oil extract has decreased in amount since the last time she saw it a few weeks back. This is what she wants, not to see Kabuto himself, but to see what he has done since she last checked her hypothesis.

In terms of her learning, she's well aware that the knowledge she has about the human body and different herbs and plants is enough to last her a lifetime. She's not angry that Sasuke has personally put an end to her learning, per se, because she has already learnt about medicine plenty more than she ever thought she would in her life. What bothers her is that he went behind her _back_ to do it, and didn't _think_ to talk to her about it first. What also bothers her is that now she has no way of checking what she needs to check; of finding out what she needs to find out.

She'll just have to work around it. The least that she can do is check if the oil has decreased, which doesn't particularly require Kabuto's help to do so—so, really, she wouldn't be breaking Sasuke's orders.

She arrives at the stables, and Sasuke does so five minutes later.

"Do you wish to ride the same horse?" He asks as he walks inside the stables, moving around and probably taking out the horse she had ridden last time.

Sakura stands still in front of the small building, hands joined in front of her and eyes downcast at the ground.

"Sakura," she hears the voice closer to her now, and lifts her eyes to see how the same horse is out, and Sasuke is holding it by his spare set of reins already.

"Yes, that is fine," she finally answers, locking eyes with the large animal and regretting the act almost immediately. It's as if they _know_ she's scared and uncomfortable around them, for it looks like it feels the same toward her.

She watches Sasuke nod and spare her a strange glance, as if decoding whatever she's thinking and feeling at the moment. Probably, all he's doing is waiting for her to get on at last.

She slowly rounds the horse and stands beside it, taking a deep breath before she hoists herself up by the saddle. It's not easy, but she would rather struggle for three days and nights before she allows him to help her; showing weakness, showing she's not capable—not something acceptable with the status she tries to uphold.

When her feet are where they need to be and she's holding the extra reins in place for her only, Sasuke starts walking. For a moment, just before he turns around and takes the first steps, it looks like he wants to say something. But he doesn't, and she ignores it because, most likely, she didn't see anything close to that.

This time, when the horse starts moving under her, she doesn't panic or jump at the movement. This time, she loosely holds her reins and looks at the landscape around her; feels the light breeze caress her legs under the sleeves of trousers that are not hers, and forgets that the man in front of her has stabbed her in the back after she has taken every opportunity to share all that she hears and knows with him, for the better of the nation.

As with last time, they enter the forest and go through it before turning around and toward the stables again.

In the entirety of the walk, neither Sasuke or herself have spoken one single word, which is why, as they near the stables more and more and she's so close to leaving the place, she doesn't understand why he opens his mouth and talks. If anything, she's confused, and intrigued as to why he's trying to make small talk. It seems he always amazes her when she least expects it—or wants it.

"You're wearing my clothes," he says, and she doesn't know if it's a rhetorical statement or something genuine from plain curiosity. Of course, she goes with the former, and answers him against all possible odds.

"I thought husband and wife should share everything, including clothes."

"I thought you had everything you needed," he retorts, looking behind him at the choice in attire and judging it for the first time that day and the second in the last two days. The difference is that Sakura doesn't feel self-conscious now, no. She feels the anger she has been bottling up almost coming out, if not for her impeccable self-control and survival instincts. Now that she has had the entire night to think over their argument the day before, she wants to tell him more than just what she thinks, but what is right and wrong. Still, she holds it in for the sake of leaving his suffocating presence as soon as possible.

"I have no pants that would fit something as crude as riding a horse. At least, not for a woman like me."

Sasuke looks like he's going to comment on her definition of _crude_ , but doesn't at the last moment. Instead, he nods and walks the rest of the way to the stables in silence.

Tying the horse to a nearby pole, he takes the necessary steps to reach his wife and holds up one of his hands, hoping she will accept it.

His wife looks down at him, and it is so unlike anything he has ever seen. _She_ , with her straightforward and untamable attitude, her unique and distinguished way around him, is _so_ unlike any of his past wives.

They never raised their voices at him, or spoke out about what they thought or felt, or tried to teach him how to pleasure them in bed—because why would they, when they had never really complained? When they had just let him do as he pleased, touch as he pleased, say as he pleased, and stayed complacent.

They never looked at him with fire in their eyes, the way Sakura's doing right now, or refused an order directly from him. They never defied him, or ignored him for days at a time only to come back and try to patch things up, try to stay devoted and fill in their duties as a wife.

Not like Sakura does.

And yet, something in her eyes changes, and she accepts his hand right before he's about to take it back. With a quiet sigh of relief, he places his hands around her waist, lifts her up, and puts her back down on the ground a second later.

As his sigh turns to one of defeat, he looks down at her and doesn't take away his hands from her small waist as he thinks his words through. And for a long time, that's how they stay.

She's forced to look up at him and into his eyes, and she doesn't like it one bit.

"I'll make sure someone goes out and fetches new garments for you, if that is what you want. We should do this again as soon as they have them ready."

And she looks so tiny directly in front of him, in his arms, craning her neck up to look at him with those big, beautiful green eyes of hers. So rare but so, so captivating. So tiny, so harmless and delicate, that it seems rather stupid to think someone like this could also defy everything he has come to know in just about a few years' time.

Sasuke watches as his statement catches her off-guard, and she blinks for a few seconds up at him until she has the time to process his helpful, benevolent words fully.

But then, she only nods and looks down between their bodies, deeming this the end to their conversation and distancing herself like never before. It unsettles him slightly, making him let go of her waist but still making him unable to speak any further. And for just a moment, he feels the sudden urge to apologise; as if he's truly guilty and has to redeem himself; as if he _has_ to admit that he was wrong, and make it up to her somehow.

But he wasn't, and he isn't. His reasons are his reasons, and he's perfectly fine with Sakura being upset about it only because it's all for her own protection. He cannot take any unnecessary risks with her or with his nation, and so if he cut all connection with her mentor, it was for her own good. He had to do what he had to do, and he doesn't expect her to understand.

If her silence and passive shift in personality toward him bothers him, there's nothing he can do about it as he looks at her one last time before he turns and leaves the scene.

.

.

.

Sakura has to wait a total of three days for both Kabuto and Sasuke to be out of the castle's premises—one for supplies and the other for meetings, she can only guess.

She holds no shame as she walks toward Kabuto's house in the middle of the day, quickly so as to not take much time and risk herself further.

Once inside, she moves with ease and notices that, other than new vials and experiments on his tables, there is nothing different about the place. And to her puzzlement, the small bottle of oil has not changed in quantity since the last time she checked. That, or the change is so minimal she can't tell with certainty.

A thousand implications and possibilities run through her head as she processes this information, something she has wanted to check for such a long time. She's back to square one now.

With a sigh, she puts the bottle exactly how it was before on the shelf and looks around the place. It has been such a long time since she's set foot inside, she had forgotten Sasuke's cat frequents the hut ever so often. It sleeps by the window, as usual, and she smiles with a tinge of nostalgia at the memory.

Then she hears the guards raising their voices from over at the entrance of the castle, hears the incredibly large door open slowly with their strength, and stops smiling altogether.

Either Sasuke or Kabuto is back, and all she can think about is how she has to leave now. She gives a glance to the shelf and makes sure everything is in place, then rushes to the door as if someone was following her, only to hear a sound under her.

Something creaks in a way she has never heard before. And even though she has no time to start investigating anything when the doors to the castle have opened and someone has already arrived, she still goes back and retraces her steps, and she still hears the same hollow creak again.

Now that she can trust no one, her interest is definitely piqued. It wouldn't do to stay here and follow her intuition, but the not knowing would also be eating her alive if she doesn't check.

Kabuto's cottage is a few minutes from the entrance. If it's Kabuto, she has at least five minutes before he gets here. If it's Sasuke, she has way more time before he realises she's not inside the castle, per se.

Sakura wastes no time. There is simply no way of knowing who is here.

She moves fast as she goes to one end of the living room and grabs the thick rug, rolling it down the floor until she sees a square carved on the wooden floor.

She pauses for a second, frowning at the idea of a door on the floor the size of a child if he were to lie down along its expanse. There's a thin, iron latch on one side, and she doesn't hesitate as soon as she spots it as she keeps rolling the rug. She grabs it and pulls on it without thinking it twice, opening it after a few seconds struggling.

And there is nothing inside.

She looks down at the large expanse of nothingness that lies inside, a seemingly endless black void in the ground; a dark, humid, large hole in the floor that seems to lead nowhere—until she notices a set of grey stairs on one side that seem to go down into what only she can assume is some kind of lair, or a secret room. Not that she can investigate any further than she already has, at least not in her predicament.

She puts everything back together and leaves before she can get caught, heart racing and hands sweaty at what a black hole that leads somewhere is doing inside Kabuto's house, and why she hadn't noticed before.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very long and very messy, but it’s meant to be that way. Thank you to everyone who reviewed! I hope you enjoy this chapter full of new revelations and heavy emotions. Drama incoming :)

Sasuke decides it has been enough weeks of research and patrolling one rather chilly afternoon. He sits on a cushion at one of his offices, drinking freshly-brewed tea from the bamboo set neatly splayed out for him on the small table.

Shikamaru sits across from him, though he does not take a sip of his imperial tea. Instead, he has a few papers on his side of the table and a few more in his hands, looking through them as if decoding the biggest mystery in the history of their nation—but most probably just the task he has been assigned to, by no other than Sasuke himself, for the better part of the new year.

Sasuke realises it has been too long. Not too long for other beaurocratic matters, where he would definitely have some leniency and grant as much time as needed, but too long for _this_ specific topic.

Fire—his nation, his recently united country, his responsibility, the only driving force behind his every decision—can't fall into the wrong hands again. With Danzō, it had done just that, and the aftermath of his fires had taken countless of years to heal. In some ways, Sasuke is still fighting to restore and repair the deep, irreversible damage up to this day. However much damage he had done, and however burnt his country had been in all those years of blood and carnage, Fire has been a peaceful nation for _years_ now. All the hard work he has put into its fruition shouldn't go down the hill in light of another civil war.

Another war would only bring the nation down and, most importantly, the Uchiha Shogunate with it. For the respect he will forever have left of his family, of their long-lasting and candid ruling, and of his own self-respect for what he does for a living, he can't allow himself to let that happen. Under _no_ circumstances must a small attack in any of his villages ensue, much less a nation-wide downright war.

Which is why, as he takes another sip of his herbal tea and looks at everything his advisor is reading and sketching with precise certainty, Sasuke decides it's about time there are some results from his plans.

"Shikamaru," he announces, watching as said man freezes for a second and raises his gaze to meet his superior's.

"My lord," he answers, waiting for a command that comes not a second later, but itching to look down at his documents again all the same.

"Gather Rock Lee and Aburame Shino. Tell them to come here," he says, his firm and impending voice cutting through the silence in the room like his blade cuts through grass. "I need the three of you for an official status report."

"Right away," he answers him like the dutiful and loyal advisor that he is, and yet Sasuke can still tell his listless comrade finds no pleasure in getting up from his comfortable position, as characteristic of him.

He watches as Shikamaru leaves and nods to himself, knowing it's only the wiser choice to check up on his men and get updates—updates he had not asked for before in order to let them have plenty of time for completion. He had assigned them missions a little over a month ago, and although that wouldn't be enough time on more formal and customary matters of the kingdom, they _have_ no more time to waste.

And as he waits, he gets up slowly and walks to the back of the room, sliding the double doors open and stepping onto the narrow balcony that surrounds most of the second floor of the castle. The white railing and the white columns provide support for the brown, signature ceiling of most homes in Konoha. Though there are some Western, imported components to the architecture of his castle (and most of Konoha's homes) from when his brother still allowed trading to happen, most of it retains the usual, Japanese markings and general design, something for which Sasuke is glad. If anything, it provides a sense of security he had only felt when younger, for he'd made sure most of the details of this new home resembled the ones from his past one, burnt to the ground so many years ago.

Sasuke looks up at the sky, devoid of clouds and winds, and over the horizon as the sun gets ready to dip under in less than an hour. The city below the hill his castle sits on is quiet, and so is his entire nation beyond the borders—just how it should be.

Today, as with any other day after the war ended, is just another ordinary day in the grand scheme of things, and Sasuke can only do so much as breathe in the serenity of it all and hope it can stay this way for many more years to come. With a small, imperceptible smile, he breathes out against the cool early spring air, closing his eyes for a second too long—it's not often that he gets to find the calm and quiet in a job like his, and the spell breaks two seconds later just as he had only feared.

He stands on the wooden, finely handcrafted balcony and rests his hands on the smooth railing when he notices it.

More than notices it, he _hears_ it. Amidst the sound of birds and general commotion inside the village surrounding his castle, he hears her.

His wife, ethereal and in all of her delicate complexity, with a small pink attire and her long hair around her like a curtain, _laughs_. Sitting on her favourite bench near her gardens, she has the biggest grin plastered on her face a few feet below him, and as he looks down from his height, the sight only makes his breath hitch on the back of his throat.

Surprise turns into confusion as he looks at the person who's making her laugh like he has never heard before, only to find none other than his best friend seated next to her. The Emperor moves his hands in an exaggerated manner, exclaiming here and there things that Sasuke hears, but can't distinctively make out from such a distance.

Another laugh from his wife only makes his confusion increase. As far as he knew, Naruto seldom made an appearance in Konoha, much less his castle, mainly for security reasons. As far as he knew, he hadn't made an appointment or told the blond to visit today, out of all days, in any way or form.

It doesn't help that, although he can't exactly hear what they're talking about, Sakura is facing Naruto on the bench and the angle gives Sasuke enough clarity so as to be able to make out most of her expressions. He can see her face from here; can notice the way she smiles at the blond and giggles, laughs, from time to time at something ridiculous he probably says. He notices the way _he_ makes her smile and knows that he hasn't made her laugh this way in the entirety of their long marriage.

Sasuke's not a jealous person by nature, and much less when _Naruto_ is concerned, but it's the way in which she shares such happiness with him, such glee and content, so freely expressed as she has never shown him before, that makes him take a step back and move into the quiet of his office as if someone has physically pushed him back inside. It makes him tighten his jaw until he can't feel his teeth and slide the doors shut as soon as he walks inside, hoping to forget the way her soft giggles and even softer complexion had made his heart stop beating in the otherwise busy mansion.

Sasuke's not jealous, but he's also not stupid, and he knows exactly what this is. He sits back on the floor and waits for his three advisors to come through the door before he has the chance to think more about the inexplicable feeling tugging at the corners of his chest.

It only intensifies anyway when he lets his mind drift back to what little he could make out of her happiness from the small of his balcony, two stories up from over their heads. What else is he supposed to think, when he has nothing else to do but wait for Shikamaru to come back?

Some would say what he feels isn't jealousy, per se, but a deeper, lonelier sentiment etched in stone; clear as day, knowingly present for the first time in their four-year-long marriage: pure, raw and uninhibited _envy_.

For what he's never had, someone else did.

Sasuke curses under his breath when another second passes by slowly and stands up from the floor with yet another curse, this time louder in the empty space around him. Has it really been one second? He feels as though it's been more than enough for him to get up and walk toward the door of his office. It serves as a good enough excuse to slide the door open and damn Shikamaru and the other men, walk down the set of stairs with a scowl that never leaves his face, and follow the sound of his best friend and annoyingly happy wife.

He steps outside and takes a moment as he sees them on the bench a few steps in front of him; he takes a breath, squares his shoulders, and hides his hands under his regal sleeves, the material making it seem as if he's calm and collected— _totally_ unaffected by any of this.

Sasuke takes a few slow strides over to them, finally catching on to their conversation as he gets closer and closer.

"Listen to this: he never _ever_ can win in our spars. Every time we finish training, you should see the look on his face!" He hears Naruto exclaim. "You know, the one where he's all frowning and almost growling like a sore loser!"

Sasuke feels a twitch in his left eye when he hears that, and he can only infer this so called 'sore loser' is himself as he wouldn't be telling Sakura about anyone else so ridiculously. His right eye twitches next when he hears Sakura giggle at his confession, and Sasuke then stops walking to a halt merely two steps behind them as he glares holes into their backs.

Naruto notices him first amidst a fit of laughter, and he points a finger at him immediately.

"Look, Sakura-chan! Just like that! He looks _just_ like how I'm telling you!"

And then, as if electrocuted, Sakura looks back and notices him and physically _jumps_. He hears her shriek before he sees her stand from the bench and hang her head low, hands on her lap as if embarassed by laughing at his expense; making fun of him so openly.

"Yo, bastard! I was just telling Sakura-chan how-" and then he looks at Sakura's display of shame, frowns, takes a moment looking between them both, and makes a crude gesture at Sasuke. "Hey! No need to make Sakura-chan stand and bow to you, you creep! Tell her to stand down _right_ this second!

Sasuke moves his gaze from Sakura's small form to Naruto's agitated state, and sighs.

"The only sore loser here is you, dead last," he says, surrounding the bench so he can face them.

"Huh? What now? I'll show you who's a dead last!"

Sasuke pays him no mind. As he reaches the front of the bench and comes to stand next to Sakura, she takes a step back and bows further, and he can only frown more.

"I apologize if you heard any of that, my lord!" She almost yells, holding the material of her fine dress on her lap forcefully, as if scared of him. "I should not have laughed so carelessly behind your back."

Sasuke's, if anything, confused at her strange behaviour. She has _never_ acted so formal, or taken the role of strictly dutiful wife, someone who is respectful and extremely professional toward himself. Naruto, on the sidelines, can only close his mouth and look between them both, surprised at this show of shamefullness when just a second before he had been sharing a good time with the woman.

"Sakura, that's enough," Sasuke announces, hand up in front of her as a show of dismissal; so she can stop behaving this way, doing whatever she thinks she's doing for him. He doesn't understand, and with this sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, he doesn't want it at all.

Sakura then straightens herself up a little too mechanically, keeps her gaze focused on the ground, and doesn't move an inch.

Sasuke's more confused than before. Who is this Sakura, and where is the one he has lived with for four years? Where is the fiery, strong personality she has carried with herself ever since he met her? Could it be because the Emperor is present? But she had been laughing with him, so that doesn't quite make any sense.

He wants to shake her, place his hands on her shoulders and demand answers, know why she's acting like she doesn't even know him and is only fulfilling the traditional role as a wife to a husband she has never spoken to. So quiet, so calm, so empty. So unlike _her_.

The last time he had spoken to her, she had been so cold and distant at the stables, much like she is right now. Could it be she hasn't let go of her resentment?

He takes two steps and reaches out to her with a hand, intent on placing it on her shoulder, and sees the way her downcast eyes widen slightly before he realises there are people walking toward him from the door to the gardens.

Shikamaru, Lee, and Shino all walk toward him and stop a few metres as a sign of respect, but clearly waiting for him to start the meeting which he had called to begin with. With a pause, Sasuke slowly retreats the hand back to the confines of long sleeves and looks down at the woman in front of him, hard eyes trying to decipher something which should be crystail clear, but isn't.

"My lord, I have gathered Aburame Shino and Rock Lee as requested for the meeting," Shikamaru says, looking at them all one by one with a face that clearly shows he does not care about what exactly is going on.

"A meeting? Can I come too?" Naruto asks as he already makes his way to the three men anyway.

Sasuke gives his wife one last look before he walks away and toward the castle once more, feeling her longing eyes on his back with every step he takes.

.

.

.

Shikamaru, Shino and Lee all sit in front of their leader, spines erect and faces set. Now that it has been enough time since he gave them their respective tasks, he thinks it the appropriate moment to check in on their progress, however much.

Shikamaru and Shino had split tasks a few weeks back, just to take off the load on the former's already heavy back.

Shikamaru's in charge of the spies that are trying to get any clues so as to incriminate the elders on the council, Shino's in charge of inside-relations and any hints that could give away every traitor in his main village of operations, and Lee scouts the outskirts of Konoha with more and more Samurai each and every day.

Sasuke sighs as he looks up from the table and observes them, resting his eyes on each one of them as he speaks. Naruto sits next to Sasuke, looking at the three men with a foolish smile.

"I have gathered you here for updates on your respective missions. As it has been more than a month, I trust there are developments."

Sasuke shifts his eyes to Shikamaru's calm presence and nods once, indicating he should start the report.

"As I lead the group of spies I have personally selected, I know what they see from my own experience," he starts, pausing in between his words as he tries to find the right ones. "We have observed, day and night, the council's routines without stop as they navigate their house and attend meetings."

Sasuke stares and doesn't give any input, signalling him to continue.

"We have found little to no incriminating evidence, my lord. Most of their day-to-day is ordinary and uneventful, I fear, with just a few meetings and a few parades around the town here and there," he finishes with a small bow, eyes downcast at the lack of progress in the past weeks.

Sasuke takes a deep breath and turns his attention to Shino, who bows and starts his status report without being verbally prompted, simply because there is no need with Sasuke and they know it.

"There is nothing to worry about inside the village, at least for the most part. It may be useless information, but we found Yakushi Kabuto doing something out of the norm a few days ago," he explains, and Sasuke's interest is immediately piqued.

"What is it?" He asks without wasting a beat, inching closer in his place on the floor.

"He appeared to go inside an old woman's home, and a few minutes later he came out and walked back to the castle as if nothing. The interesting part is we could hear the woman's cries of sorrow from inside the house, so it could be inferred that the healer was the one to ellicit such a response."

Sasuke blinks, hands under his sleeves on his lap, eyes on the floor while his brain turns the wheels slowly as he processes this new information.

He has never fully trusted his appointed healer, much less after he had to forcefully distance him from the presence of his wife, but this only proves that he most definitely can _not_ be trusted.

"Did you go inside?" He inquires, watching as Shino's face morphs into one of surprise. "Did you try to talk to the woman?"

Shino shakes his head slowly, wondering what could possibly go over his superior's head if he thinks he had gone inside some villager's house, invaded her privacy, and then asked questions about Kabuto's business, which could only blow his cover in the long run.

"Go inside," Sasuke states, voice clear and rough, strong and edgy. "This is not a game. I need answers by any means necessary, even if unconventional. As with the risk that comes with these tasks, it's your job to cover up well so the nation doesn't end in chaos."

Naruto, next to him, holds a serious expression much unlike the faces he usually wears. He may have already realised the extent to which this meeting is being held; with utmost importance and nothing less than that.

"Is this clear?" Sasuke asks, watching as each men nods once. "Lee."

Lee nods once more with a little more effort and enthusiasm than necessary, and straightens up.

"Yes, my lord! I was instructed to lead some of my men into the forests surrounding Konoha's border, and we found no clues. Other than the occasional rogue bandit trying to cross or escape the village, all has been quiet."

And with a pause, he confesses something that Sasuke silently agrees on, but certainly wasn't expecting to hear.

" _Too_ quiet, if I may add."

Sasuke nods once and furrows his brows, taking in all the information provided and trying to fomulate a plan; come up to a conclusion.

He reaches it faster than expected, as if the answer had been at the forefront of his mind all along. It probably had been.

"Lee, continue as you have, but take a small team up into the village that is overlooked by lord Orochimaru," he sighs, looking down at his small table. "I think it's time to pay him a visit since he's the one who started all these rumours in any case. And make sure he does not see you. I will need answers in three weeks, at most."

Lee agrees with him, and he shifts his eyes toward the remaining two men.

In the end, there is nothing he can do but give small commands that seem obvious at the moment—seeing Orochimaru and spying on his every-day activities after all that he has done only seems logical, and something he has been waiting to do for quite some time now. Any bigger decision must wait until he can think it through. Whatever he decides on, it must be executed to _perfection_ —he can't be wasting any more time than necessary, and this can't drag on for much longer under his careful watch.

"You can continue as you have been doing so far. If I make any changes to your plans, I shall let you know in advance. You may all leave now," he announces, and watches as all the men leave the room together, sliding the door shut as they do so.

Naruto, who has been distinctively quiet during the unexpected ordeal, turns to him with a beat.

"So, now what?"

Sasuke finally drops his rigid stance and relaxes in the presence of his most trusted companion, moving a hand down his face in a show of exhaustion. Rubbing his eyes with his index finger and thumb, he sighs and looks at Naruto whilst shrugging his shoulders slowly in defeat.

He can't think now. He needs to process this barely eventful or significant update, turn it over in his head, and come up with the next plan of action. What Lee has said is most certainly a cause for concern; everything is too eerily quiet, almost as if it's planned to be that way, and Sasuke must make a drastic decision as soon as possible because of this.

Then an unrelated thought hits him and he pauses in his movements, dropping his hands on his lap as he focuses his eyesight on the blond.

"Now what? I should be the one asking the questions. _Why_ are you here?" He genuinely asks, now remembering he isn't even supposed to be at his castle today.

Naruto gives him a nervous smile and scratches the back of his neck, as characteristic of him, before answering in a hushed, embarrassed tone.

"I missed your wife, that's all."

"Really," Sasuke deadpans, crossing his arms over his chest with a million questions dangling from his tongue.

"Well- I mean, I get so _bored_ inside the palace and then you live so damn far! You haven't visited in _so_ long I thought you were dead!" He exlaims, moving his hands in exaggerated gestures, for which Sasuke can only roll his eyes at.

"So you had to risk your life and your family's life because you wanted to see me? Naruto," he puts a hand on his shoulder and looks at him in the eye, feigning seriousness only for the moment he speaks next. "You know you're not my type, right?"

Sasuke expertly dodges the punch to his face, watching as the blond curses at him before turning red in embarrassment, muttering things that only bring a small smile to Sasuke's face.

They take a sip of the already-turned-cold tea before Naruto speaks again.

"You know, I had no idea Sakura-chan learnt the art of healing. She seems very knowledgeable about it, though I already forgot her explanations."

Sasuke only hums to that as he leaves his cup on the table, once again reminded of Kabuto's existence.

"My healer is getting old and sick himself, so I was planning to appoint a new one," the blond says, realising the present opportunity when he speaks next, voice excited and eyes shiny. "What if Sakura-chan is my healer? She can come by for routine checkups on my wife, and if we ever fall ill!"

Sasuke frowns and turns to look at him, snapped out of his thoughts about a crying old lady and his healer causing her to cry somewhere in town.

Something just doesn't click; it doesn't feel right, as if the blond is forgetting something. Sasuke answers to that with a question of his own a heartbeat later.

"What about Shizune?"

Shizune, the healer who has been checking on his wife's babies for decades now, and was present for the twins' birth so many years ago. Naruto shakes his head in any case.

"Shizune has found one of the best healers in the nation, and she has been training under her wing for the past few weeks in other parts of the country" he explains. "I don't think she's coming back, at least until she is done, which is why I'm asking this of you now. Please, _please_ let me have Sakura-chan?"

It takes him a moment to process his words, but the answer had been in his head from the start regardless.

"No."

"What!" Naruto yells, clearly offended at the clear one-word answer from his friend. "But why not! She's probably so _bored_ in this mansion with your monotone answers and indifferent persona! You don't even spend time with her!"

"Don't assume things so blatantly, Naruto. What happens in this house is none of your concern."

He receives a pout, but the topic is obviously not dropped so easily.

"Fine, but it would still do her good to go outside once in a while! I have plenty of guards around my castle, and it's in the middle of nowhere on top of it all. Nothing would ever happen to her!"

Sasuke stays silent, as if considering his proposition, before he shakes his head and sighs.

"The trip alone is enough. It takes me two days to get there by foot, and since she will be escorted in a carriage guided by the men of my choosing, it'll probably end up being three days," Sasuke explains as if he's talking to a child, scoffing the more he thinks about this ridiculous proposal. "With the way the nation is plotting against my ruling, is three days not enough time to ambush my wife in the middle of nowhere?"

Naruto glares at him and makes a face, clearly not happy about his friend's infuriatingly logical train of thought.

"Sasuke, don't be unreasonable now. The nation is as peaceful as usual, if not more. These are just unnecessary precautions you're taking. Sakura-chan will be guarded with many of your Samurai on the way there," he says, muttering the next words with certainty. "And this could be the perfect opportunity to trust her a little bit more."

At that, Sasuke looks at him with eyes narrowed and hands in fists under his sleeves. Trust? What does he know about their trust, and how could he possibly have known? Is it possible that even if they have only met, his wife has already been telling him about them? About their relationship and its hardships? About _trust_? About how he has only taken her out once, and it had almost cost him his ever-lasting ruling? About how he had to change the way his nation is handled, and had to murder his best Daimyō because of it? Sasuke doesn't think Naruto understands.

Sasuke trusts her. What he doesn't trust is his nation at the moment, and his friend should know better.

"The answer is still no," he repeats, his tone unwavering even as his friend stands and stretches, a sour look on his face.

"Well, bastard, just think about it," and as if someone had pressed a button, he suddenly walks toward the door and smiles at Sasuke. "It's almost completely dark, so I'm gonna go ahead and sleep here tonight. Thanks!"

Sasuke watches as he slides the door shut behind him, but his gaze gets lost on the wave print on his door. He sees past the waves and the paper-thin structure, and imagines a thin and lonely Sakura, sitting alone on a bench with no one to talk to, nothing to do, and nowhere to go.

.

.

.

It's nearing the end of March when she's called to her bedroom by one of the maids. She's small and fragile, and bends her body in respect as she speaks to her, though in a low voice and with wobbly knees.

Sakura has to look up from the book she has read twice already to pay attention to what she has to say, and in the middle of a rather ordinarily dull week, it's nothing short of surprising.

"My lady, I apologise for interrupting your reading," she says, bowing by the door as if afraid to overstep.

Sakura's too stunned to utter anything at first, so she only nods and smiles, which at least makes the poor girl less rigid in the uncomfortable position. She stands straight but averts her eyes from ever meeting her lady's.

"I come with urgent news. My lord requires your presence and would like for you to show yourself at your lordship's bedroom," she breathes, stumbling over the words here and there. "He has told me to summon my lady and so I came as soon as I could."

Sakura closes the book and watches as the girl jumps at the sudden gesture. Nevertheless, she stands and walks to one of the shelves in other to put it away—not that she would have missed anything anyway—whilst nodding to the maid in agreement.

"I will go right away, thank you," she announces, giving her a small smile that goes unnoticed as the girl refuses to meet her face, much less her smile. After deeming it an appropriate time to depart, the nameless girl bows again and leaves the way she came from, and Sakura takes a moment too long to accomodate the book on the shelf.

Her husband had been out of the village for over three nights, spent one night in the castle, then left for an entire week without so much as saying goodbye—other than a simple explanation he was due to leave again soon by the foot of their bed.

Seeing as Kabuto hasn't left in all the time her husband has been away, she hasn't been able to go check the entrance under the rug again, back at the cottage. And seeing as she's strictly forbidden from going over to his cottage in order to pass the time learning, her only form of entertainment has been re-reading books on the fifth floor and tending to her garden alone.

Usually, when her husband returns from diplomatic missions or battles, someone is always there to let her know of his arrival. Had he just arrived now? Nobody had let her know except the maid, and she had not even mentioned Sasuke's arrival, just the fact that he apparently wanted her to go to their room.

Sakura looks back at the only window in the room and watches as the sun is already dipping behind the horizon. She would normally head to the dining hall at this hour for dinner, though that seems improbable now.

She sighs and walks out of the library, going down the several flight of stairs slowly so as to prolong the first time she sees him—and speaks to him—in over a week; to drag it out as long as she possibly can without raising any flags, just so she can get her head straight and her face set for anything that may come. By now, she has accepted their conversations are an unpredictable script that somehow never end on a happy ending.

Eventually, though, she has to step off the stairs and walk along the hallway leading up to their room. Their big, gloriously decorated, usually-empty room stares back at her through the thick door as she comes to a stop in front of it. And just as she's about to take a hesitant step back, her hand somehow finds its way to the handle of the door, and she slides it open before she can object to her body's immediate, premature reaction.

But is it really premature, when her husband stands inside facing the window, giving her his back, hands in his pockets and hair wet from a bath? Is it really _premature_ , when her mind agrees with the logic in her body's immediate reaction? Is it really premature when her husband turns at the sound of the door opening, when their eyes meet, and she feels like the air has been knocked out of her chest?

Yes, it is premature, just like the smile that threatens to surface on her lips, or the blood that somehow starts moving faster through her veins in anticipation; an involuntary reaction to meeting his fathomless, strong gaze after all the distance between them in these last few weeks.

She enters with a step and shuts the door behind her, taking a deep breath in that moment before she turns back around to face him on the other side of the room.

Sasuke, wet hair framing his already defined face, stands still with his hands inside his robe's pockets. She can only guess he has just taken a bath, and called for her as soon as he was done.

She has that premature, repressed urge to smile, walk up to him and weave her hands through his long, silky hair, pulling him close to her like she has only ever done in the midst of his nightmares. But that's all that they are: repressed urges. Because then, as she sees him turn back around and face the window with an uninterested air to him, she remembers why she has been putting distance between them to begin with. Why she has been angry at him, and repressing everything in the form of soft, practiced words; the role she has to stick to, right now, is the only thing that keeps her from leaving the room.

"I heard you wanted to see me, my lord," she says, watching as he gives an imperceptible nod toward her while still giving her his broad back. For a moment, she wants to feel the fire; feel the rage, the silence that controlled her for days and nights, and the angry feeling that had consumed her for the longest time. At the moment, all she feels is repressed anger and a tiredness to her bones that has no true explanation.

"I did," he responds, turning to face her again, and she wishes he hadn't.

The deep timbre in his voice only makes her skin fill with small goosebumps. And then she doesn't feel angry or sad, but she feels _relief_. She feels _glad_ that he's home, feels like seeing his perfectly sculpted face and looking into his bottomless eyes has been what she's been waiting for since he left. She wants to give him the biggest, warmest smile and walk toward him, embrace him in her arms and welcome him home properly. She feels the urge to do that and so much more, so much more that it _scares_ her.

She quells the desire to smile at him by frowning at the abruptness of it all, eyesight falling from his face to the floor below them.

"I trust you had save travels, my lord. Did you just arrive?"

Sasuke finally takes notice of her excessively distant tone and the scowl that she carries around her, and she sees the way his jaw locks and hears his hum of agreement at her question, as if tuned to his every reaction even if on the other side of the room.

Sakura's frown deepens.

"My dear, I would have come sooner if I knew," she admits, though what she feels and what she says are completely different things. "What is it that you wanted me for, if I may ask?"

There's a silence on the other side of the room and Sakura's tempted, for the longest time, to sneak a glance at her husband. If she had, she would have seen the strange look on his face and they way his eyes had been trying to decode the mystery surrounding her completely detached voice.

Instead, she waits and hears him clear his throat after a few more seconds. She hears him take a few steps toward her only to stop by their large bed. After sighing and running a hand through his hair, he sits on the edge and looks to one side, not nearly reaching her intrigued face. He faces the window, yet she still doesn't have it in her to look up.

It's a few seconds before he speaks again, and the room seems to turn colder in the middle of Spring, which only signifies this is more serious than she ought to have expected. Sasuke takes a breath and looks at his hands, back hunched forward and arms hanging from his legs.

"I know I have been absent from our home," he starts, and she feels the air catching at the base of her throat at this. Nothing, she thinks, would have prepared her for this confession from him.

"I know you... may have disliked my decision to keep my healer away from you at all times," he says, taking a deep breath and turning his head to look at her from his seated position. "I know."

When he sees no reaction from his wife, it only makes his patience wear thinner. After a long week and an even longer bath, he had hoped to have his mind clear. At least, clear enough to talk to her without this ridiculous treatment getting on his nerves and tempting his patience.

But as he looks at her, her back straight but head down in a show of submission, he feels that the blood boiling inside his veins shows just how foggy his mind is slowly getting.

"Will you not speak?" He asks, but only receives silence.

He's been out of the city for a few days, and, during the few times he has been inside the castle in the past few weeks since Naruto's visit, Sakura has made it her mission to avoid him at all costs. He can't really explain it, but having Sakura in this state only makes him want to talk to her so as to make her less... _This_. Whatever _this_ is, he thinks, is like watching the ghost of someone he used to know. It brings a painful feeling to the bottom of his stomach, one that can only, for some reason, leave whenever she decides she doesn't hate him anymore.

But even now, as he admits he knows he has done wrong in the past, she remains the same. Even now, as he asks of her to speak to him, she stays silent.

"Come," he demands, because if demanding her is what's going to work, then he can use that to his advantage.

She does as told not a second later, as if programmed to follow his every command.

When she stands in front of Sasuke's seated form, he takes a moment to look up at her face. She avoids his eyes, but from this angle and from this distance, he can tell just how distraught she is over this. He can make out her clenched jaw, tight fists, and shaky knees perfectly.

He wants none of this unfamiliar, shaken girl in front of him. He wants none of the cold stares, the quiet submission, or the forced attempts to please him. He wants none of the shell she has become or the childish treatment she has chosen to give him. He wants none of it, so that's what he tells her.

"I want none of it," he says, and watches as their eyes meet for one split second at his unexpected words. "This anger you hold toward me? I want it no longer."

Sakura only frowns further, clearly wanting to say something but holding back.

And Sakura has never, ever, in the entirety of their marriage, raised her voice at him. She has never yelled in his face, laid a hand on him, or showed displease toward himself only because she has been curteous; she has been smart, respectful, and dismissive of his every wrongdoing. She has held him in high regard, and even when their opinions have crashed and burnt, she has never showed her disagreement so openly.

Right here, right now, he only wishes she would do all these things and more.

"Say it," he tells her, looking up at her face and seeing the way her face morphs into different emotions he can't really make out from the tight restraint she holds over herself.

"Tell me, Sakura," he warns, a little louder this time in order to ellicit some kind of response. _Any_ would be fine, even if the one he does end up with is no progress in the long run.

"What would you like me to tell you, husband?" She asks, but the sweet tone to her voice is gone, and the question seems more forced now than genuine.

"I know that you are angry, but why?"

" _Why_?"

And then, it finally happens.

He sees the way her eyes lock with his own in defiance, in contempt for asking that kind of question. He sees the way she opens her mouth, and the way her expression goes through disbelief, anger, sadness, and then settles on anger once more.

" _How_ can you ask that? I have been nothing but complacent and diligent to you in all these years. I have done nothing but to indulge you in your every desire, and treat you with respect."

Her voice is strong, but quiet. She's fighting back, but still holding back so much more.

"You may be treating me with _too_ much respect."

"I have been treating you as I should have from the start of our marriage: as my husband. There is nothing wrong with that."

There's a pause in their conversation before she decides he has spoken enough, and looks away.

Sasuke bares his pearly white teeth at her for a second too long when she makes a move to walk away, quickly grabbing her wrist to keep her in place. "In the process, you have made me forget who you are," he offers, daring her to answer with his eyes.

Surprisingly, she answers almost immediately.

"Your _wife_."

If Sasuke's taken aback by her biting tone, he only shows it by pushing her over the limit even more; maybe to see how far she can actually go, or maybe because he's too deep to just let it go now.

"There is little resemblance," he says, and it's as if she has been slapped across the face.

 _There is little resemblance_.

The words, though small and barely muttered under his breath, make her freeze in the spot.

He's saying the person he knew has nothing to do with this new side of her. He's saying he doesn't recognise her. He's saying she's not his wife anymore. He's saying he doesn't _want_ her like this.

But this is how she has to behave now, because this is how he has indirectly asked her to be. A wife who supports him no matter the decisions he makes is a wife she has been taught to follow. A wife who agrees with his every say, even if it goes against everything she believes is right, is a wife she _should_ follow. And she has to. As Uchiha Sakura, she just has to adapt and conform.

If he wants her to nod and smile without a voice—an opinion that matters in the grand scheme of things—then she has to bury everything she wants to feel. She has to forget how his words hurt her, how his eyes dig holes inside of her with every disapproving glance, and how his touch burns her sensitive skin every time he doesn't notice their hands brushing.

She has played her part and she has been learning along the way, but now he dares to disagree? Isn't this what he wanted? A pacified, trained companion? Someone he doesn't have to speak to, share anything with, or hold close?

The subdued fire in his eyes now only proves her wrong, and it's the thing that finally breaks her.

Sakura takes a step back and shakes her wrist out of his grasp. She uses the same hand to point a finger at him, a lack of conviction dancing in her gentle features. At some point in her stupefaction, she takes the necessary steps forward for her dainty finger to touch the top of his chest.

"You went behind my back, and forbid me from seeing Kabuto from one moment to the next as if nothing," she finally confesses, looking down at him as she speaks.

It would be a lie to say he's surprised by this declaration, but he can't help it if he still feels his blood run cold.

And for a second, time stops still as he processes her words inside his muddled, confused brain.

It only proves his dark suspicions to be true.

Sasuke scoffs, knowing this has been the root of her anger from the start. Sasuke scoffs and shakes his head, knowing that for weeks, her affection toward his healer is all that she has been angry about. This had been the only reason it had bothered him so much; so much so that he had to call her to the room; had to summon her, push her buttons, and hope for her to finally admit to the _real_ reason of her strange behaviour toward him.

He stands from the bed, the abrupt motion pushing her finger away and making their chests bump.

"All along," he starts, staring at her perplexed face down the bridge of his nose. "All along, you truly have been lying for his sake."

Something dark flickers across his eyes, and she has a vague idea of what exactly is going on in his mind. But it's too late, it's too late as he moves closer, raises his tight fist by her face and clenches his jaw in a show of restraint. As if, as she watches the silent rage displayed on his face, he's trying his hardest to not touch her.

"You must know he will die by my hand first," he says, inching closer to her as he whispers his next words. "And you'll be next."

"Sasuke-"

"Is this why you are so angry? Because you can no longer be with him?"

"That's not-"

"Even though you reassured me, was I so foolish to trust you?"

"There _is_ no trust, Sasuke!" She yells, hoping he will stop talking and instead listen to her.

There is a flicker of pain in his stare at her outburst, a sight that inadvertently makes something clench inside her chest. She can't stop the words that come out after that, hand clutching at her dress exactly where it hurts—her heart.

"You don't trust me, and _that's_ why I'm angry! You went behind my back, did not think to consult me about the issue, and ordered me to stay away from the only other human being I can ever interact with. The moment I start seeing you care, you go and do this! You breach my trust and expect me to follow because it's your word, but if you had only stopped for a moment to _ask_ , I would have understood your reasons and I would have agreed."

She stops talking, breathing hard against his chest, watching as his face slowly sets into stone—just like she has seen before. Suddenly, it gives nothing away.

And yet, when he doesn't give anything away, at all, she feels she has already said too much to stop any time soon. She hugs herself and lowers her gaze from his impenetrable stare, staring at the fabric covering his chest instead as she speaks again.

"I have spent four years trying to understand you, trying to get to know you, but all you give me is the cold shoulder. And I understand that you may not like me, or... even be attracted to me, but there has to be some kind of understanding in a marriage like this. There has to be some kind of trust. The one where, if I need you to know something, I will let you know right away."

She keeps telling him things, but he barely hears them. All that he sees is this woman trying to explain to him the meaning of trust, and all that he can think of is that, ironically, he had been threatening to kill her not a minute before. He had been ready to end her life over a misunderstanding without letting her explain herself, as if what he had been saying was the law and there was no other possible explanation out of it.

He stands in front of her, arms down and shoulders sagging slightly, with nothing but his thoughts as he frowns to keep himself busy.

And maybe she's right. Maybe they have always been hesitant around each other, not nearly trusting each other as any couple should, especially in the position of power they hold in the country. And maybe, because of said power, they should be more aware of each other. And maybe, with the precautions he's been taking to keep his nation safe, they should be relying on each other more.

Sakura keeps talking, her voice wavering here and there and pausing to take deep breaths, but Sasuke doesn't listen to any of it. He doesn't, because all he can focus on is the way in which she hugs herself more than she can manage, and they way in which she holds back tears he has only seen her shed twice in their marriage. And she looks so fragile, so ready to walk away from this and damn him to hell, so ready to punch him, slap him, shake him until he realises just how much she's hurting, that he knows he wouldn't stop her if she ever decided to do just that.

But he knows she would never. More than that, she _could_ never.

Unable to swallow the lump that remains stuck in his throat, Sasuke waits for her to finish her infuriated speech, and only then does he realise that she's expecting him to answer a question.

What it is, he doesn't know. She seems to take the prolongued silence as his way of rejecting whatever she had asked him, and sighs against his robe for quite some time.

"Months ago, I asked you to give me the chance to get to know you, do you recall?"

He looks at her, and answers when she looks up at his face again.

"I do."

She nods and gives him a small smile in the penumbra of their room, now with the sun below the horizon.

"I would still like that," she breathes, clearing her throat when he doesn't immediately answer.

And he doesn't answer. Instead, his gaze drops to the hand clutching at her chest. Her small, delicate hand, holding close to her dress in hopes of holding herself together as well, keeps shaking moments after her outburst.

He raises his hand, then, and takes her own with as much care as he is able to from her chest. He holds it still in his grasp, hoping to stop the trembling that she carries around, but still trying to be as gentle as possible.

Her skin is soft and warm, shaking even though it's not cold inside the room. And then, even in this dim lighting from the twilight outside the room, his eyes travel further down. Unfortunately, it doesn't escape his eyes that there are imprints of his own doing on her soft, otherwise pale skin.

And where once he had held her in his strong hold, now lie finger-sized red, angry marks along her wrist.

Sakura follows his line of vision and gasps, opening her mouth to tell him that it's fine, it's _okay_ , and that it's a very superficial thing. That it will go away, and that he doesn't have to worry.

The reassuring words die in her throat when he looks up from her wrist. He gives her a look, and then, as fast as he had called her to their room, he steps out just as unexpectedly.

.

.

.

Sakura doesn't see Sasuke for another week. She hears from one of his advisors, after almost forcing it out of him, that he has merely gone to the land of Grass. Shikamaru had then told her it was diplomatic business that he had to attend to, and that he would be back in a few days.

After a week and one day, her husband steps through the gates of their castle, walks inside the building itself, and sits at the dining table without sparing her a glance. They eat in silence, and he finishes his portion before she's even halfway through her own.

When he stands from the cushion and rounds the low table, he walks by her in order to get to the stairs that lead up to their room.

She doesn't expect him—sweaty and tired to the bone from the journey to Grass—while still being in this nebulous state with her, to speak as he passes her. But he does. He stops by her side, tells her, and keeps walking out of the dining area.

"As long as I am within the castle's perimeter, you can resume your studies with him."

She's left looking at his retreating back, the food cold on her plate as she drops her chopsticks on the table's surface.

For days, she’s too afraid to even _attempt_ to visit Kabuto at his cottage.


End file.
